


Path

by Faylinn_Night



Series: The Path [1]
Category: Marvel, Ultimate Spider-Man (Cartoon)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Awkward Romance, Brother-Sister Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family, Funny, Humor, Kidnapping, Major Original Character(s), Sci-Fi, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-02-28 09:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 41,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2727776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faylinn_Night/pseuds/Faylinn_Night
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The small town of Enderlin, North Dakota has recently broken out into civil unrest.  Humans blame mutant residents for the recent kidnappings and deaths of “their kind” and the result separates families and friends.  SHIELD has been tracking down young mutant groups that have fled the carnage, the so called 'Enderlin Uprising'.  When one such group finds their way to New York City, Spider-Man and company are assigned to bring them in for protection against trackers from an unknown employer.</p><p>Unfortunately, the mutants are too cynical to trust anyone—even heroes.  And it seems Fury's hiding something...All well; that's a hero's life. Peter still has faith. Ava wants to solve matters. Luke believes new friends can be made. Sam has some growing to do. And Danny’s willing to work with refugees, particularly the white-haired one with a freckled face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first Spider-Man fanfiction. It could be the start of something bigger, but I'm not sure. The first few chapters focus on the team and plot before 'good guy' OCs are introduced. Just sayin'. :) 
> 
> Disclaimer: Ultimate Spider-Man is not mine. Nor are any of it's characters. That's Marvel's job. Zeelan, Thera, Kevin, and several other OCs you'll meet are mine, though.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spider-Man and the gang face off against The Trackers for the first time.

* * *

 

     Peter Parker should know better than to assume the best of things—let alone ask himself the always-assumingly innocent question ‘Things can’t possibly get any worse, can they?’  Oh, yeah, they could.  And they did. 

     Almost being caught by Aunt May in his costume when he sleepwalked downstairs to get the dinner he had missed last night had only been the start.  Sam followed up his scare with yet another prank call—this one about J. Jonah Jameson broadcasting his secret identity all over New York City.  Peter was able to get back at his teammate by sneaking a plush rabbit in Sam’s desk seat, but that cry of horror gave little satisfaction given that Peter had already been bombarded with a forgotten history test and a little ‘chat’ with Flash Thomson.  Lunch’s Mexican menu had also been particularly cruel to him, leaving little room between then and now—just after school.

     And here he thought taking down a few newcomers in Hanover Square would be a welcomed outlet for his frustration.  There were only three—two guys and one chick.  But they fought as a more powerful team than the Frightful Four.  Really, Peter was expecting them to be a nuisance like Whirlwind or Leaper or Mesmero.

     But, no.  Of course not.  They were mutants.  And his Spidey Sense just _had_ to inform him of the crew’s potential not five minutes after he and his teammates happened across the scene.

     “Hey, tall, dark, and freaky!” Peter exclaimed to a six-armed male that bent White Tiger in dangerous ways. 

     The heroine gaped for air in her opponent’s thick hands, yet harbored too much pride for it to be obvious.  The man—a rough-skinned brunette with a display of muscle mass and scruffy hair that rivaled Sabretooth—barely glanced in Peter’s direction.  Eh, no matter; all he needed was to divert the mutant’s attention from Nova’s aerial attack.

     “Ha!  How you like me now?” Nova cheered while soaring like a rocket.

     “Damn insect!”  The mutant—now dubbed ‘Six Arms’ in Peter’s mind—growled dangerously after he received an energy blast to the face.  Dropping White Tiger in surprise, he used one of his six arms to rub his eyes, which must have burned.

     Peter shivered at the sight.  Though he may have been bitten by a spider, he sure as hell was thankful his limbs were kept in their natural state.  Thank you, rarity for the favoritism.

     “Don’t like bugs, huh?” asked White Tiger, cool, from her new crouched position.  “How about cats?”  And with a snarl she leapt forward to drive the male back with her electric claws and several skilled kicks.

     Peter dropped from his spot on a brick building’s face only when she held her own again.  Power Man was heading her way, anyhow.  Shooting a web string across the street, the teen swung through the warm air then back-flipped to the brawl’s other half.  He clung to a lamppost’s shaft beside Iron Fist’s struggle, in which the Martial Arts master expertly dodged any undisciplined kicks or punches thrown his way.  Unfortunately, his female opponent had a knack for generating dense ash clouds from her mouth like a dragon.  Yeah, as if that wasn’t bad enough, those clouds were capable of melting metals around them like acid.  Joy.

     “Need help with Wednesday Addams here?” questioned Peter good-naturedly.  Iron Fist neared the lamppost with caution, though his focus remained on the fair-skinned woman ahead.  She glared while steadying her stance, a small trail of smoke pluming from her black-painted lips. 

     “Oh, please,” she said in a strange accent.  It sounded Canadian.  Or, Swedish.  And it thickened as she added, “Do these vibrant green eyes look like they belong to Wednesday?”

     “Ah, touché!”  With a little laugh, Peter directed a glob of wed fluid at her snarling mouth.  It stuck beautifully.

     Iron Fist wasted no time in sweeping the young woman’s legs from beneath her with a flawless move.  Peter grinned behind his mask as the blonde spun into a standing position once more—without hesitation or awkwardness.  The teen really did admire his friend’s mastery over Martial Arts.  And sometimes wished he held the same skills.  But then he would remember he didn’t have it in him to be that, well, disciplined.

     “What’s that?” Peter directed towards the raven-haired female, who tugged at the webbing like an enraged Wolverine.  “Sorry.”  He chuckled.  “Can’t hear ya!  Seems like something’s got your tongue!”

     “Sometimes the wisest thing to do is not to speak, but to listen,” added Iron Fist calmly.  Peter’s chuckle quickened when the chick flashed the heroes a strange look from the road.  Even at the simplest of things, the blonde had a saying on hand.  “What do you believe these guys are after?”

     Iron Fist stepped away from the lamppost, and Peter honored his teammate’s silent cue by shooting larger globs of webbing at the woman until her lithe form was cemented to the cracked asphalt.  “Dunno,” he answered while he waved cheekily at the female’s thrashing head.  “There aren’t any banks here.  Or jewelry stores.  Nothing of value, actually.”

     Silent, the blonde spared a moment to evaluate the square’s damage.  “Do you believe it could be a distraction?”

     “From what?”  The agile teen landed on his feet beside his friend.  “They aren’t acting like they’re trying to keep us busy or have any real direction.  Maybe they really _were_ just messing with people for fun.”

     “Possibly.”  Iron Fist’s words sounded as if he were reminiscing on the initial attack.  “SHIELD didn’t call us here.  Still, picking a fight this public feels like a message…”

     “What kinda thoughts you got happening, Fist?”

     The blonde hero shook his head when Peter waved a hand before him.  “Now’s not the time for thought, but action.  The battle is not yet over.”

     Taking a stance beside Peter, Iron Fist gathered his Chi into his right hand until it glowed a brilliant yellow like the sun.  Peter aimed his Web-Shooter to prepare his next move, but the smoky smell of fire drew his attention back to their imprisoned opponent instead. 

     Obviously, the young woman was quite perturbed.  The web fluid that touched her bare arms thinned—melted—until it weakened enough for her to rise with a sizzling fury.  White strings dripping from her jaw, she breathed heavily, her leather-clad body shaking like the start of an erupting volcano.  He could swear her ‘vibrant green eyes’ darkened then bled into pure black from the pupil outwards.  Only, the sudden breeze and heat from Nova’s wake between the two heroes forced Peter aside before he could confirm them.

     “Make way, Webs!” the loud Hispanic exclaimed, directing a bright blue energy blast at the recovered woman.  “I got this!”

     “Way to be a team player!” Peter shot back instantly.

     The air-bound Nova paused as the ash lady was violently propelled into the side of a vacant bus.  “What?”  He shrugged.  “You wore her down.  Now _I’ll_ take her out.  Obviously, you need help, Webs.”

     “Yeah, _I’m_ not the one who needs help, _Bucket-Head_!”  But Peter’s retort went unrewarded.  Figures.  “One day, someone’s going to take that guy down a peg,” the teen grumbled—eyes fixed on the cover of black smoke that Nova blasted through without worry.

     “Time and trials are the best teachers of humility.”

     Peter turned to Iron Fist. “Thanks, Fortune Cookie.”

     “Wait.”

     “What?”  A jolt ran through Peter’s slender body at his friend’s sudden, stern tone.  He mirrored Iron Fist’s sweep of the (rather disastrous) area, but nothing stood out—save for maybe the joyful sight of an acidic cloud scaring Nova into a tizzy.

     “Ava and Luke have the six-armed man busy.”

     “Yes.”

     “Sam is taking the girl.”

     “Uh-huh.”

     “Where has the third member been?”

     Like an unwanted cue, a low, strange chortle rung out—seemingly from all around.  “Speak of the devil and he shall come.”

     Peter’s next back-flip was purely instinctual.  His body twisted in the air like a corkscrew then propelled him to higher ground with a strong push of his arms.  Twisting again, he perched on a lamppost’s shade.  Iron Fist had also moved—maybe rolled out of reach or jumped.  Regardless, he stood a safe distance from the new figure that appeared from, well...somewhere. 

     The tanned male sauntered forward—long arms spread and lanky figure tall.  Peter’s eyes narrowed as his new opponent stepped coolly over the road debris.  Yet more so out of confusion than suspicion.  I mean, come on.  Didn’t jumpsuits go out of style in the eighties?

     “Even the lovely Smokescreen has lost herself in this pointless battle,” the male continued.  “Guess a Trickster needs to come into play after all.”  His tone was a weird mix of flippant and meditative.  And its accent matched the ash chick’s accent, only with less accentuated ‘A’s.  It sure as hell didn’t match his Indian features.

     When he sent the duo a mischievous smirk, Peter couldn’t stop himself from taking a second glance at the sleeveless outfit that had been left unzipped to reveal just enough (or too much) pectoral muscles.  “You sure he hasn’t already been here?” he asked lightly while he pointed towards the man’s pants.  “I’m sure he just switched your clothes out with a disaster from the past.”

     “And your patriotic colors are an obvious cry of acceptance.  But we all have our problems, don’t we?”  The Indian chuckled deeply then bowed as if in the presence of royals.  It was clearly a mocking gesture, as his smirk never once lifted.  “My name, if you will, is Trickster.  And I would appreciate it greatly if you excused my short-tempered…friends.”

     Iron Fist steadied his stance, powering up his fist again as the tanned male straightened.  “Niceties can soften but never veil fowl intentions,” he stated just as calm as Trickster’s movements.  “We can’t comply.”

     “Dude.”  Peter shook his head.  “What language are you even speaking?”

     Trickster’s smile grew on his mildly-handsome face—as if he were genuinely amused by the blonde’s words.  “Yet intensions are rarely so obvious.  One can be blinded from the truth by their own perception.”

     “Perceptions can be trained to sense the truth—no matter what.”

     “No.”  Trickster gave a hearty laugh that riled a soft growl from Iron Fist’s throat.  “Perceptions are flimsy, fickle things that cause nothing but a mess.  The battle of good and evil, after all, is nothing more than a war of _perceptions_.”

     “There is nothing flimsy about the innate belief that good should be done.”  The blonde hero widened his stance even more when Trickster huffed.

     “Like I said,” the lanky Indian added, stepping sideways, “perceptions are blinding.  Tell me, what harm have we done to any citizens here?  What was our crime, exactly?”

     Peter, now standing on the lamppost, followed his opponent with his steady gaze.  “I’m pretty sure I can charge you with harassment of my mind.”  Then he faced Iron Fist, who kept his toned arm outstretched towards Trickster.  “You too, if you didn’t have such a clean record.”

     Iron Fist didn’t reply, though Peter never expected him to.  The blonde rushed forward instead—not really knowing what powers or abilities this Trickster possessed—and slammed his fist down with a force that broke apart the surrounding road it came in contact with.  Trickster avoided the resulting spray of asphalt chunks, drifted like one that floated with the wind.  Peter spotted him behind Iron Fist, leaning down to whisper in his ear.  The blonde tensed at the words for only a moment and then swung a second glowing fist behind him in fierce retaliation.  He stepped sluggishly to the side when Trickster whisked away while chuckling harder.  Peter felt that whatever had just been done, it had affected the young master’s mind and left him to shake impossible thoughts from his head before he could regain control over his Chi.

     Alright.  Creepy.

     “And what can I do with you?”

     Peter let out an unwilling squeal at Trickster’s invasive voice and flipped from his perch to an overturned car that Six Arms had tossed ages ago.  Mentally chastising his failed Spidey Sense (again), the teen scanned the square in haste, gripping the muffler below him. 

     His opponent was nowhere in sight.  How did he even do that?  Last he checked, there were no such things as stealth jumpsuits…unless Fury and Coulson had omitted a particular piece of information from a forgotten age they no longer wanted to be affiliated with.

     “You.”  There was Trickster again.  Though no matter which way Peter twisted or bent, the hero could not face his opponent.  “If we want to roll with your friend’s ideals then _I_ perceive that you’re the kind of person who struggles every day.  Am I right?  I gotta be right.”  Trickster paused to give a chuckle that suddenly paralyzed Peter from head to toe.  The man’s words held more weight than they should.  His whispers sounded penetrating, and for some reason Peter’s heart began to race as if anticipating oncoming danger.  “You struggle from the moment you wake, right?  Like your grasping for breath, _struggling_ to stay afloat.”

     Wait.  Was he breathing?  He was sure he had been before.  But now his lungs burned.

     “Jameson looks down on you.  He lets the whole city know it, too.  Even now, I can hear his hackling from the jumbo screen.  I bet that just _boils_ your blood, doesn’t it?”

     Why did Peter suddenly feel very angry?  He had actually been fortunate enough to filter out the news anchor’s grating voice.  Until now.

     “Imagine what this city would do if they really got their hands on you.  Imagine the _scorn_ of Jameson’s supporters.  Imagine the crushing _burden_ of those that expect you to save them.”

     Now his body felt tremendously heavy, his knees weak.

     “Every day.  They’re tearing you apart, aren’t they?  Ripping at you.  Limb”—long, bony fingers wrapped around the hero’s left forearm then the other—“by limb.  Can you take it?”

     He thought he could.  Maybe he couldn’t.  Maybe he had been mistaken.  Maybe he really was leaping foolishly to his own death.  He didn’t want that.  He didn’t want death—not for him or anyone else.  Not again.

     “No one’s meant to handle such pressure.  You aren’t any different, Spider-Man.  You’re not special.  You know that, right?”

     Yeah, he did.  Only thing special about him came from a genetically engineered spider. The accident could’ve happened to anyone.  He wasn’t chosen.  He didn’t believe in pre-destined things.  So what right did he have to stand against crime in a suit?  Especially for people who didn’t even appreciate him…

     “You should stop before it’s too late.  The people, they’re watching you.”

     They were.

     “Every day they’re there, waiting for you to _slip_.”

     They do love it when a hero fails, don’t they?

     “And _when_ you slip”—the accented whisper turned heated—“they’ll tear into you like a sick member in a pack of _dogs_!”

     “Webs, what are you doing?” Nova cried out.  A surge of heat raced past Peter’s face.  There was a surprised cry, and just like that, reality came rushing back so hard that Peter fell off the car, breathless.

     “Wh—What did Mister Bangin’ do to me?” the teen questioned with a slur.  His body tingled with remnants of frustration, panic, and even heartache.  They disoriented him to the point where he couldn’t focus, let alone stand. 

     Nova may have said something more after zooming by.  No, it was likely he _did_ say something more.  Peter just couldn’t hear the words.  He could only hear a persistent ringing in his ears like a dial tone until White Tiger’s yell brought his attention to the left.

     “Spidey, look out!”

     Three brick-like fists hurled Peter’s way, yet his numb body could only gape at them.  Luckily, the sting in his face didn’t last long.  And only one thought entered his mind before darkness consumed him: bad days sucked worse when you’re a superhero.


	2. Enderlin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny and company learn a little more about the Trackers they met previously, as well a little secret SHIELD's been keeping.

* * *

 

     If Daniel Rand-K’ai knew anything, it was when to take a deep breath. He had fortunately been taught such a skill by the monks in K'un-Lun. He had also been taught how to prepare himself. So, even under Director Fury’s unblinking eye, he remained calm. Unlike his teammates, who cringed at every other biting word that was thrown at them in the Tricarrier’s debriefing room.

  
     “Geeze, Fury,” an un-masked Spider-Man chided from across the metal table. The brunette was free-spirited enough to tap a palm against his ear in a clear, teasing gesture. “We didn’t cause that much damage.”

     Fury paused—a heavy, intimidating action. “Oh?” he asked caustically.

     The Director pressed the button of a small device in his clenched hand. Behind him, the panned holographic screen woke up from its screensaver. It brought up high-resolution photographs of the damage in Hanover Square. Danny noted that they were arranged in the most impactful way possible—like Fury had anticipated this very moment. Which he probably had.

     “You call this”—the African-American gestured to a particularly cringe-worthy close up of a melted bus—“’not much damage’? What if there had been civilians in it?”  
“Then we would have gotten them out first,” Spider-Man retorted. There was a frown on his pale face, adding to the offence of his tone.

  
     “We’re not dumb, Fury,” Nova about growled. Danny glanced towards the Hispanic seated at his right. The tanned teen gripped tighter onto the metal helmet he leaned on, which only earned a scoff from the Director.

     “You aren’t smart, either.” Fury clicked the device again. This time, the photos moved like a slideshow that blew up a photo, paused, minimized, and then moved on with the next. “Overturned cars, melted buses, shattered windows, thousands of dollars in road damage—three injured citizens!”

     Power Man flinched notably at that last word—Danny saw it in his peripheral vision.

     “Those injuries were all Nova,” grumbled Spider-Man. It was probably meant to be unheard, except it wasn’t.

  
     Nova quickly stood from his seat, his steel stool screeching across the floor as he jabbed a finger at the team’s leader. “Someone had to step up to the plate while you were taking a nap yesterday. Besides, none of us could contain that chick’s ash.”

     Spider-Man also stood from his seat to return Nova’s glare with an equal amount of resentment and a slam of his palm against the table. “The way Luke tells it? It seems your over-confidence is what provoked that chick to generate a cloud that big in the first place.”

     “You fired her up!”

     “And you just made it worse by parading around that she couldn’t touch you! It’s your fault they got away!”

     “Enough!” Fury interjected with a resounding roar. The force of the man’s voice drove both alphas back into the seats, although the negative energy from their continued glaring contest could clearly be sensed by Danny. “The point of you joining SHIELD was to make you not just stronger, but wiser. The fight drew on too long and with too much collateral. However…” The Director’s already stern expression hardened even more. His energy fluctuated; Danny felt it like a pricking push. And he watched closely as the director faced the holographic screen and, with a few quick hand movements, brought up some case files. “You’ve all heard the news of Enderlin. Right?”

     “Yeah,” White Tiger answered on Danny’s left. He hated how her strong voice almost cracked. “North Dakota. Nasty cult. Way too many casualties.”

     “Right you are, Ayala. But the cult was a SHIELD cover-up.”

     “Naturally,” Spider-Man chimed in his trademark sarcasm.

     As the brunette tossed his hands in the air, Fury glanced around the table coolly, arms poised behind his back. “It beat the alternative. If the truth had gotten out, there would be a tremendous rise in panic. Mass hysteria. SHIELD exists for order.”

     “So, what really happened?” asked Power Man, even. Danny could tell by his straight face, though, that the superhuman dreaded really knowing.

     “We’ve classified it as a civil uprising, in which humans and mutants fought.”

     “What?” White Tiger croaked.

     Danny, even, had to shake the shock from his mind. It did little good.

     Fury stood straighter, opening a digital file that introduced a whole slew of new images. Some were of half-destroyed buildings (whether burned, demolished, or water logged). Some showcased uprooted landscaping and beaten cars of all kinds. Most, though, left a nauseous pit in the blonde’s stomach. Eyes wide and fingers gripping tight to the fabric mask in his lap, Danny glossed over the bloody bodies of numerous people. Mauled, beaten, cut, burned, shot; some even looked poisoned. The various deaths sunk the pit deeper until the hero could no longer bear the images.

     “Enderlin, North Dakota,” the Director started. “Population, eight-hundred-seventy-one. March twenty-ninth. While monitoring local towns for threats—“

     “You mean tracking down mutants?”

     Fury sent Spider-Man a hard stare then returned his eye to the group, who all avoided the screen. “Two agents of ours stayed in Enderlin a while for observation. They had heard rumors about mutant subjugation there, and wanted to know just how bad it was. Though the town’s fear was evident, it seemed those branded as mutants were not the extent of their problems.

     “Kidnappings had grown in the last six months. Unreported by the press because, frankly, it’s bad for their already dwindling businesses. But when more missing showed up dead in surrounding forests, a majority of humans were quick to blame the mutants. It all came to a head before my agents could stop it. SHIELD arrived too late for them.”

     “Are you telling us…that the humans just started attacking the mutants in their town?” White Tiger couldn’t hide the disgust in her question or expression.

     “The only thing my agents reported as strange was a sudden fog. When their bodies were”—a brief pause—“recovered, they wore masks. But toxicology reports on surviving members showed no signs of poisoning or hallucinogens.”

     “So they were sane?”

     “Seems so. Interviewers claimed they were justified. If you ask me, none of them should have lifted a finger. But they did. And it reduced the town’s population nearly in half.”

     “The news said only a few were killed,” added Spider-Man lowly.

     Fury shook his head. “Of course we couldn’t reveal the true body count. That would defeat the purpose of a cover up.”

     “And a cult is really all you could come up with?” Nova didn’t sound as light as he usually did, but he did manage a bit of condescension.

     “We made do, Alexander,” the gruff Director managed through clenched teeth.

     “Why hide all this stuff from us?” questioned Power Man. Both his energy and body were tense, which Fury glanced over callously.

     “It’s on a ‘need-to-know’ basis.”

     Spider-Man scoffed. “Everything with you guys is a ‘need-to-know basis’.”

     Silent, Fury eyed the brunette’s air quotations. “There’s only one reason I’m giving this mission to you kids.”

     “Why’s that?”

     “Because you’re already involved, Parker. All of you.”

     “The three we faced in Hanover Square,” Danny said more as a musing. “They’re linked to Enderlin.”

     “Perceptive, Rand.” Fury’s tone made it hard to tell whether or not the man was being sarcastic or praise-worthy. It was probably the former. “Ever since Enderlin, the mutant population had scattered. Most of them were children—your ages and younger. SHIELD has been tracking them, to help them. Most are elusive, though.”

     “Fear is like fire, consuming.” Danny frowned at the mere thought of so many terrified kids. “Even so, what is left in its wake is a new birth, hope.”

     “And you’re trying to tell us…what, exactly?” Nova asked his blonde friend.

     Danny faced him evenly. Wasn’t it obvious?

     “Were those three refugees?” interjected White Tiger incredulously.

     “No.” Opening three files side-by-side, Fury laid out new information.

     Danny noted the photographs first. Scowling, strong-chinned male. Check. Gothic female with cold eyes. Check. Lanky male of the Indian persuasion. Check. Beside them was a blurb of text—certainly scarcer in depth than any profile Danny had ever seen from SHIELD. But he could read their real names from where he sat, as well as a description of their powers.

     “Flint Caulfield,” Fury started, stern, “twenty-three, and his younger sister, Ashlee, eighteen, were identified in your fight footage.” No one dared ask how the Director acquired such anymore. “They were residents of Enderlin, high-school dropouts. Before their deaths, my agents confirmed the Caulfields were leaders in an organized group that killed and captured others. The third, Nirav Kakar; he’s twenty-one. We can’t associate him with Enderlin. Graduation records put him near-by, though, in Valley City.”

     “Well, all of them have the same accent. Sort of.”

     “Duh, Webs. They’re all from North Dakota still.”

     “Shut it, Bucket-Head. I’m just saying, it proves Mister Bangin’ grew up near them.”

     “Mister Bangin’?”

     “Did you see his outfit?”

     “You’ve run into them a few times before,” noted Danny—more so he could break up the shallow argument. His gaze remained fixed on several accounts of failed apprehension before Fury stepped into his line of sight.

     “These three are trouble—especially the one that calls himself Trickster.”

     “Yeah, tell me about it,” Spider-Man added with a notable shudder that Danny sympathized with. “It’s like…he makes you believe things you know aren’t true.”

     “Paranoia inducement,” added Fury flatly. “He once convinced a platoon of SHILED soldiers that their comrades were conspiring to kill them. So they all shot one another to keep from being the first.”

     “Is that what happened to you, Web-Head?”

     “I don’t want to talk about it,” the brunette snapped towards Nova. Danny didn’t face either of them, but kept his attention on the absolute rage that burned behind Fury’s dark eye.

     “These three call themselves The Trackers”—Fury continued with just a slight edge to his voice—“They’re mutants. Powerful ones.”

     “What are they tracking?” White Tiger inquired carefully.

     “Other mutants. The true refugees.”

     “Why would they”—Power Man paused—“hunt their own kind?”

     “Regrettably, we haven’t uncovered that information yet,” the Director answered. “We just know they’ve been chasing an unidentified group that’s been more evasive than all the others combined. Now that they’re in New York, I know you kids won’t let the matter be; they obviously gain your attention too easily.”

     “Well,” started Spider-Man, leaning on the table, “the buff guy, Six Arms, he was kind of harassing the people that were gawking at his extra limbs.”

     One of Fury’s brows rose. “Six Arms?”

     “Yeah. That’s his codename now. We already have a Flint, remember?”

     The Director simply shook his head.

     “I admit, things just kind of snowballed from there, Sir,” added White Tiger, almost in shame. She had lost her temper when the man started mocking her with cat sounds. And the fight sparked from there.

     “Whatever.” Fury gave them a pointed look. “It happened. I can’t say I’m happy about it; however…I admit that you kids are better suited for this job than my soldiers. If we find

     The Trackers again, our best chance is you. Besides, kids identify better with peers.”

     “You want us to find the refugees first and convince them to come to you,” Daniel said in full confidence. He wasn’t quite fond of the idea, honestly. It wouldn’t be much of a choice on their part—hide for protection or succumb to SHIELD. Even so, he kept his composure, and said nothing more as Fury nodded firmly.

     “That’s your new mission. You start patrolling for The Trackers tomorrow. Inform us immediately if you locate the refugees.”

     “Anything else you want to tell us, Mister Director Sir?” Spider-Man chimed, snarky.

     “Yeah.” Fury’s cold eye landed on the brunette like an anvil. “Stop trashing the city!”

 

━❖━

 

     “Oh, I swear, if you spent less time messing with people and more time doing your job, we’d have them by now, Trickster!”

     Trickster shot a Cheshire grin at the black-haired woman that glared his way. It was his thing: grins. He loved them. Almost as much as he loved whispering into people’s ears. Or causing them to cease breathing with a single look into his left eye. Or even just tripping someone down the street. It was all fun.

     His female comrade wouldn’t agree, though. She was headstrong enough to let him know it too. But he refused to let her attitude affect him. He simply let his grin grow as he rounded the female’s body, eyeing its gracious curves beneath melted leather.

     “Watch yourself, Kakar”—a gravelly voice echoed throughout the empty train car—“I’ve got six arms with no qualms of ridding you of your favored eye. What would you do then?”

     “Seeing as how my voice works best, I guess convince you that your own limbs are enemies with the intent of crushing you alive.” Trickster said this without delay and with a chuckle.

     He twirled to meet a dark-haired male not quite reaching his height, but filled with powerful muscles below his side-less ‘shirt’ that—if it came to a battle of limbs—could easily break his bones. The facial scruff around his strong features added way too many years (it’s why Trickster kept his face clean-shaven) and the Indian teased him for it as well.

     That’s another thing of his: teasing. And giving nicknames. Speaking of which…

     Trickster grinned. “I think your nickname’s been changed, Mister Scruffs. I like what that spider kid was calling you. Six Arms. It fits!”

     “Next time I see those kids—“

     “Am I the only one thinking about time here?” a sharp voice interjected. Still grinning, Trickster meandered towards the black-haired female that had already started to fume—literally.

     “Relax, Smokescreen,” the tall male sung. “We were assigned the hardest team to catch; we got time.”

     “What we got are problems,” Smokescreen snarled as her eyes darkened.

     “Oh, I know. The Doc hasn’t been too happy with us. But we’ll get them.”

     “Not if you keep playing around!”

     “If I recall, you lost your temper along with your brother yesterday. Not me. I was trying to ease the battle as effectively as possible.”

     “We wouldn’t have been in that situation if stubborn-ass Flint would have just hid his arms with a coat. Now SHIELD knows we’re here!”

     Trickster fell into a fit of chuckles. He couldn’t help it; the woman’s sour face was just too funny. And that growl!

     “He’ll be the first we throw to the wolves,” noted Six Arms with a sneer. He approached the duo, but didn’t bothering hitting his male comrade like usual. Instead, he flashed Smokescreen an impassive look. “I ran out there because I thought I saw one of the kids…then, you know how my temper is. I’m sorry, Ash.”

     A sort of glum shadow darkened Smokescreen’s face in an instant—like a veil of trouble Trickster couldn’t quite comprehend. “We can’t afford anymore set-backs. You know this. For her sake…”

     Faint dread could be sensed in Flint’s gaze, yet he masked it well with a smirk of anticipation. “I know. And the solution is easy, Sis. SHIELD or not—if those kids stand in the way of our goal; they have to die. Right?”

     Trickster grinned wider and only sniggered into his hand as Smokescreen met her brother’s gaze.


	3. Rematch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke and his friends face off against the Trackers once again.

* * *

 

     A mega meat lover’s pizza had never looked so unappetizing to Luke Cage before. Well, maybe save the times he’d had the flu. But those were different cases, even if he felt just as sick by its smell. The greasy meat and cheese only left room for an uncomfortable feeling inside him, which had worsened ever since Fury’s mission debriefing yesterday afternoon.

     Those pictures. All those poor people. It was downright disgusting. And unnecessary. Violence for peace was one thing. Luke only supported heroes because they stood up to bullies and criminals. And he liked testing his strength. Violence in response to fear and anger—unjustified fear and anger—however? Now that frustrated him. What was so wrong in giving someone the benefit of the doubt? What was wrong with attempting to solve a problem by talking it out first? Those peoples’ deaths were…meaningless.

     Danny felt similarly; Luke could tell. To his left in Midtown High’s cafeteria, the blonde also looked at his lunch with a stony expression not many others could read. Peter and Sam’s argument across the table hadn’t caught his attention once. Luke’s, either. He didn’t know what had started it, actually. At some point Ava had even joined in. The African-American didn’t bother deciphering their overlaid voices, though, and nudged Danny’s broad shoulder gently.

  
     “You thinking about it, too?” he asked just low enough that only his best friend could hear.

  
     Danny’s green eyes met Luke’s frown, distant. “How can I not? To think people would be that…irrational. They took it too far.”

     “Agreed.” Luke nodded then sighed.

     “What did it earn them? Surely neither side won. And now shunned kids have been forced to survive in the streets.”

     “It almost sounds surreal.” A subtle shift in Danny’s gaze prompted Luke to continue. “I mean, we’ve thought about situations like this before. Well, I have. Just in passing. It always seemed ludicrous by the end, though. I would tell myself ‘No, regular people would never be senseless enough to attempt genocide. Mutants are a sub-species of them, after all’. Yet…here we are.”

     “Mutant hysteria has been on the rise,” started Danny morosely. His expression darkened. “X-Men liaison Hank McCoy has been having a terrible time keeping government officials from passing new laws. He’s right. Segregation never leads to a positive path.”

     “You think that one mutant—Trickster—had anything to do with the uprising? He does have that particular kind of…push.”

     The blonde blanched as Luke straightened in his seat. “Yes, he does.”

     “That’s what happened to Peter on Monday. You were with him, too. Did you experience his powers for yourself?”

     “I did,” said Danny with great difficulty and a slight twitch across his pale face.

     “What?” The dark-skinned teen blinked. “What’d he say to you?”

     “He twists your mind to think the impossible.”

     “Like?”

     Obviously, the blonde felt shame in having been effected by Trickster; he hesitated and his blanch didn’t let up. “He—he had made me fear my hand was on fire…”

     “Because of your Iron Fist.”

     “Yes.”

     Luke stared. He had wanted to laugh, really, but wouldn’t allow it because of the look Danny sent him. He bit back chuckles by clearing his throat, and somehow kept composed while momentarily distracted with the thought of a panicked Iron Fist attempting to douse his greatest weapon with a bucket of water.

     “If he can reach a strong mind like yours, Danny, then we just may be in very hot water,” he said lightly. His grim smile was rewarded by a simple frown.

     “I never should have believed it. And I had retorted in anger and embarrassment.” Danny sighed. “Even though I knew I shouldn’t, I did. My actions should be guided by a want for peace, justice—not self-vengeance.”

     “We can’t control ourselves all the time,” Luke added easily.

     “But we must try…”

     “Ugh!” Ava—strong voice strained and clear—drew Luke’s and Danny’s attention to the trio ahead. “I swear, the both of you are giving me a headache. Can you just move on?”

     “I’ll ‘move on’ when Sam admits he’s at fault!” Peter countered in a half-yell. He had stood from his seat at some point to stare down at Sam, who met the leader’s gaze evenly from his plastic chair.

     “I’ve told you”—Sam hissed through clenched teeth—“I can’t be blamed!”

     Peter’s hands met with the cafeteria table rather harshly as he leaned down. “Part of being a hero is acknowledging weaknesses, Sam. And taking responsibility. You won’t even take a fraction of it!”

     “Will you keep it down? Harry and MJ could be here at any minute. Besides, what could I have done, huh?”

     “For starters? You could have corralled Smokescreen—“

     “You’re naming her too?”

     “I overheard it, actually. But that doesn’t matter. You should have corralled her to a less populated spot.”

     “It’s a city, Parker.”

     “And we’re supposed to protect people, not put them in harm’s way because you want to show off!”

     The Hispanic’s dark green eyes narrowed even further, his trembling hands curling into a fist atop the table. “I wasn’t showing off.”

     “Call it whatever you want.” The brunette’s form straightened. “You still provoked her to harm civilians. And now one of them may never walk again.”

     “It. Wasn’t. My. Fault.”

     “How about we just agree to be more careful next time?” Luke contributed after a brief, tense staring contest filled with the chatter of other cafeteria conversations. Peter sat back down, only a whole chair away from the Hispanic that faced another direction.

     “Thank you, Luke,” Ava grumbled. The tanned female lifted her head from the hands she had buried them in then sent pointed looks at the boys on her right. “We have enough to talk about. Like how we’re going to find those Enderlin kids.”

     “And what we’re going to do when we find them,” added Peter. When the others faced him, he shrugged nonchalantly. “What? I know I can’t be the only who thought it unfair.”

     “He’s right,” Danny said in a calming tone. “I thought the same. We’re a part of SHIELD for our own reasons, but not one of them involved life or death.”

     “We joined because we thought it’s what was best for us and our goals,” Sam stated, callous. “Shouldn’t it be in their best interest to, I don’t know, be safe?”

     “You think SHIELD will treat them like they should?” Peter snapped. And his glare landed on the Hispanic.

     “Are you suggesting we purposely fail our mission?”

     “If our alternative is forcing kids to make a choice at gun point, then yes.”

     “What bugs me”—Ava said while she rapped long fingernails against the plastic table—“is the extent Fury’s going to for this group.”

     “He really wants to get them first, doesn’t he?” asked Luke.

     The Central American nodded. “While Fury…cares in his own way, I know there’s something else. Someone in that group has to have something of interest to him. Even if he claims the group is unidentified.”

     “Exactly!” Peter threw an arm up strongly. “Otherwise, he would just assign us to take down The Trackers and let the kids know it’s safe.”

     “When have we ever known Fury to just let someone be?” Sam snorted, drawing the leader’s gaze.

     “My point and case. Fury hides things. Especially from us. So I want to get to know this group before I, possibly, usher them into the lives we got. Or worse.”

     “What’s wrong with our lives?” retorted Sam sharply.

     The brunette shook his head. “It’s not for everyone, no matter what kind of power one has…”

     “So,” Ava interjected with another rap of her nails, “it’s agreed. We want to get the kids’ side of the story first.” The group nodded (save for Sam, who only shrugged). “Now Fury said The Trackers—“

     Beep! Beep!

     Peter glanced at his wrist. “Speak of the one-eyed troll,” he muttered before accepting the call of his crying communicator. At Fury’s face the first thing Peter did was flash a cheesy grin that easily masked all dubiousness. He sure had a knack for that. “Got news for us, Nickolas?”

     “There’s no time for your sass mouth, Parker.” Clearly, the Director wasn’t amused. “We’ve got problems in Chinatown.”

     “Of what nature?” asked Peter, his grin unwavering.

     “Leaper.”

     “You want us to skip lunch for that?” 

     A soft humph over the communicator joined Peter’s groan. “Yes. You need to help him.”

     “Wait…what?”

     “He’s made some new friends. And not in the good way.”

     “The Trackers already?” Ava added while leaning over in her seat.

     “Get there. Now.” And with the decorum that was Director Fury, the call ended without so much as a ‘good luck’ or ‘Fury, out’.

     “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” Peter chimed as he rose to nod at the group.

     Luke returned the action and wasted no time in following his team out of the noisy cafeteria. Mary-Jane and Harry—full trays in hand—stopped Peter near the entrance, with a matter the African-American couldn’t quite catch. However, no member paused their dash for him. The leader would catch up soon, so Luke entered the nearest bathroom with Danny and Sam.

     Once a clear coast was confirmed, they changed into costume with fluid efficiency and then opted to leave through a handy hidden passage SHIELD had installed in their infinite amount of spare time. Beyond the school walls, the warm sun rested high in the sky. It greeted Luke kindly as he rounded an alley corner. Yet he had no time for its comfort; he joined Iron Fist, Nova, and a recently-joined White Tiger in their rush to Chinatown.

     As expected, Spider-Man graced the group just before they reached a narrow cluster of Chinese restaurants and stores. Batroc the Leaper was causing a ruckus amongst the outside seating, jumping from building face to building face while a six-armed mutant barreled after him like a more compact version of Juggernaut. Metal chairs were overturned and tossed through windows in his wake. Though the dark-haired man displayed a great amount of agility, he still couldn’t lay one of his many hands on the Frenchmen.

     And, boy, did that just piss him off.

     “Oh, come here, you little toad!” Six Arms snarled dangerously in his Midwestern dialect. A building shuddered when he punched a section of it with two of his fists. He had missed. “And shut the hell up with that ‘leap’ shit you keep saying!”

     “Leap!” Leaper yelped, his French accept thick with panic. He landed on a small table that Six Arm’s immediately directed his rage towards. Another jump placed him on a bigger table, where he caught Luke’s gaze by some slight chance. The utter relief that washed over the Frenchmen’s expression caused Luke’s eye to twitch. The sight felt uncomfortable, sure, but he didn’t have the heart the kick the man away when he sought refuge beside his legs.

     “What are you doing out before dark, Leapster?” Spider-Man teased while hanging upside-down from an awning.

     But there was no chance for a reply; Six Arms was already charging forward with all his limbs poised for combat. Luke felt a rejuvenating surge of energy fill him at the determined glint in the mutant’s eyes. He smirked, steadying his wide stance as the others in his team spread out to their own opponents.  
“I’ve been itching for a rematch,” the buff teen grumbled.

     Leaper scrambled out of the way just before Six Arms clashed with Luke. The pure force of their impact sunk the hero’s boots into the street as if it was sand. Kinetic energy pushed away lighter debris around them. Luke’s muscles immediately began to scream in pain as they wrestled and he tensed his throat when the mutant’s two middle arms wrapped their hands around it. Still, he stood his ground; he promised himself he would. He was strong, so handling two additional sets of arms, no matter their tactical advantage, was feasible.

     “Your kind is so predictable,” Six Arms said in a tone gruff with strain. “Like Weir. At least that means we can call you easy.”

     Luke’s face scrunched up at the mutant’s bitter, hot breath. “Dude, have you ever heard of a mint in Dakota?” he wheezed through the constriction on his throat.  
Six Arms growled like an animal and with a step to the side, Luke managed to free one of his arms long enough to land a fierce blow on his opponent’s gut. A yellow glow soon followed the mutant’s brief recoil. Iron Fist. The blonde helped liberate Luke’s remaining arm, though the aid stung a small part of his pride simply because he had wanted to prove that he could free himself.

     “Thanks, Fist,” the African-American said anyway.

     “We fight as a team,” Iron Fist replied. It was just one of the many times Luke felt like his best friend could read his mind.

     “Yeah, you’re right.”

     The duo charged in unison towards Six Arms, who kept one middle arm close to his body as it trembled. Iron Fist jumped into the air for a hammer fist attack while Luke took the low road. Together, the mutant was crushed into the street then pushed backwards several rolls. An indistinct angry chatter of—what Luke assumed to be—curses drifted on the wind like an ancient incantation. Yet it was Ava’s voice that forced Luke to whirl.

     “I don’t even see Trickster!” she cried after Spider-Man’s retreating form. Her vision remained set above while she stood in the open street that Luke just noticed had been cut several times from energy blasts.

     Following her gaze, the dark-skinned teen spotted Nova bobbing in the air. He was acting strange, even for him. His lithe limbs would twitch at his sides and he would frequently jerk around as if expecting a monster to sneak up behind him. Then there was the muttering. And the increased intensity of his blue aura.

     “So,” said Iron Fist beside his friend, “that’s where Trickster went.”

     “Damn, it’s hard keeping track of them all,” Luke added dryly.

     And since Fate just loved reiterating such things, the Caulfield sister broadsided Ava from some place unknown. Iron Fist and Luke both took a step forward, but a death grip on their ankles landed them on their faces instead. It didn’t sting, of course. Not Luke. When the African-American twisted to face Six Arms behind him, he noted that a gash ran across Danny’s cheek and quickly countered with a right hook then an elbow into the one hand that held Iron Fist down. Once free, they gained a little distance that still kept them away from the energy beam meltdown of Nova.

     Evidently, it wasn’t far enough. The cries of Nova and some rambling from Spider-Man sounded far behind them. But despite that, the heated blasts still reached their feet. They dodged every one of them and as the blasts picked up concentration, a fit of panic eased into Luke’s stomach.

     He turned from Nova when Six Arms rose for another charge. Luke was able to redirect the mutant’s massive force quite easily with a single move that collided Six Arm’s body with Smokescreen. His small triumph held little potency, though; as the cries of Nova had grown more stressed and two additional screams entered the fray.

     Luke spotted them all too late—a woman pinned in some concrete rubble, an attentive man by her side. They couldn’t move from their spot beside a restaurant entrance, not with Nova’s energy dancing around them dangerously and the amount of debris that covered the woman’s lower half. Of course, Luke had to glance at the restaurant sign above them, too—the one Nova on multiple occasions missed with Spider-Man ‘redirecting’ his aim from the ground.

     The hero could clearly see what would happen; he wouldn’t allow that to play through. Not even Iron Fist’s grunt from beside distracted him. The dark-skinned teen dashed forward with the intent of using his rock-solid body as a shield; they needed him more than Iron Fist did with Six Arms. When the expected sizzle of sliced metal reached his ears, his pace quickened like his heart rate. Already, he outstretched his toned arms, prepared to catch any heavy object that would descend on the couple.

     Yet he had to come to a sudden stop, face-down into the wounded road. Leaper—the cowardly man—just had to cross now, didn’t he? Luke cursed the Frenchman for having tripped him and again when he tried to recover and the nuisance only tripped him again. He growled deeply, lifting his upper body with his arms while more sizzling sunk his heart.

     Creak. His head jerked up suddenly and his wide eyes witnessed the large, metal sign slip from its supports.

     “Nova, stop!”

     But it was too late.


	4. Dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New mutants appear on the battlefield with the Trackers, but they aren't exactly agreeable.

* * *

 

     Man, did Ava Ayala hate Batroc the Leaper.  Everything about him—from costume to personality—grated on her nerves like slow torture.  So, keeping a light scoff in when the Frenchman sought refuge at Power Man’s feet had been impossible.  Rolling her eyes behind her mask, the white-clad heroine paid little mind to the snarling Six Arms that charged after the Leaper.  She jumped out of the way just as Power Man mentioned something about a rematch.  But she didn’t have the luxury to tell for sure; she was already preoccupied with a kick hurling her way.

     Child’s play.

     Ava grasped the ankle of a thigh-high boot and smirked, even though Smokescreen could only sense the action.  The pale-skinned mutant snarled in return, directing the length of her black-painted fingernails at Ava’s face.  A slight burn numbed the cheek she managed to brush—despite its coverage—and in mild panic Ava jerked back with a hiss.  In turn, the heroine charged her own claws that lashed out violently at Smokescreen, who managed to avoid the blows by twirling in ways Ava never noticed on Monday.

     “This one’s an escape artist,” Spider-Man chimed beside Ava’s head.  No doubt he hung upside down, though the young woman couldn’t fathom just what allowed him to do so in the middle of the street.

     “Yeah, didn’t notice, Webs!” she replied through labored breathes.

     Fwip!  A glob of web fluid raced past Ava and glued Smokescreen’s boots to the cracked road.  When she tripped backwards, Ava seized the opportunity to land a coveted slice across the mutant’s face then about laughed at the strangled squeal she made while hitting the ground.

     “Don’t you know better than to aggravate a tiger?” the heroine asked cheekily.  But Spider-Man hummed and she turned to him with a huff.  “What, Spidy?”

     “We need to find a way to cool her; this is about to get worse.”

     “What are you talking about?  She’s out.”

     “Oh, you damn lot have no idea what you’re messing with,” Smokescreen hissed in a stronger accent.  Part of her sleeveless shirt and pants—including the webbing at her feet—began to deteriorate as a cloud of smoke seeped from the mutant’s mouth.  Though she rose slowly, Ava remained stationed with Spider-Man, unsure if the cloud was super heated or not.

     “Don’t you just love it when I’m right?” asked Spider-Man, light.

     Ava meant to send him a look—as good as one can get when masked—but a sudden stream of bright blue energy met Smokescreen’s exposed midriff before the heroine’s head ever turned.  The black-haired mutant landed hard on her back and kicked up dirt debris as her body skid a good distance.  Her recovery was quick; however, a second, third, and fourth beam forced her through the cracked structure of a quaint Oriental store like the unlucky victim of a video game.  Two more beams followed and Ava had to twist out of the street tactfully to avoid them.

     “What the hell, Nova?” she screamed at her teammate while whirling to face him.  In the air Nova jerked about from one way to the other, twitching.  Behind her mask Ava’s brows furrowed.  She watched the male’s arms flail and when he released another series of strong blasts, the heroine dashed into the street just below him.

     “Oi, Bucket-Head” she cried in a voice that barely carried over the ruckus of Iron Fist, Six Arms, and Power Man.  “What are you even _aiming_ at?”

     “Doesn’t have to be anything,” noted Spider-Man while landing on a crushed table beside Eva.  He didn’t pause long before he shot a web line towards an opposing building face, the air around him darkening to a rare level.  “It’s Trickster,” he added blandly.  “Iron Fist and Power Man have their hands full, so you find him.  I’ll subdue Sparky.”

     “I don’t even _see_ Trickster!”  Ava’s glare fell on the hero’s back, though.  Huffing, she scanned around Nova in reach of what caused his strange behavior.  Useless.  She thought she saw a distortion in the space behind him, only a force knocked her clean off balance.  Shoulder scraping against the asphalt, the heroine recovered by twisting her body so that she landed on her hands and feet just after crashing into an overturned table.  A quick glance ahead left a deep frown on her face and a growl in her throat.

     “Where’s that fucking bug friend of yours?” Smokescreen snarled.  Her bright eyes scanned the area and Ava snorted when the mutant vainly tried ripping thick chunks of webbing off her burnt clothes.

     “Trouble with spiders?” Ava questioned smoothly.

     “Oh, not for long.” 

     More smoke generated around Smokescreen, seeping like dragon’s breath.  The pale young woman smirked darkly as its density grew and grew until a large body broadsided her lithe form like a football player.  For a moment, Ava thought it had been Power Man, but a glimpse of four extra limbs convinced her otherwise.  The Caulfield siblings flew through an already damaged window face and as additional shards of glass crunched, a sudden scream filled the street.

     “Nova, stop!”

     Ava turned.  And her stomach dropped.

     The heavy grinding of metal preceded a sickening chorus of sobs from a pinned couple amongst the debris beside the block’s corner.  Nova had sliced an iron sign from its high support in spite of Spider-Man’s attempt to ground him.  The damaged piece—which easily stood taller than two grown men—descended with the intensity of a time bomb. 

     Since a malfunction in Spider-Man’s web shooters stuck him to Nova’s hands while the flyer crash-landed overhead and Iron Fist was busy fighting thin air, Ava knew not even Power Man could reach the civilians on time.  Pure dread kept her legs in place longer than it should have and in slow motion she dashed for the couple that she had little hope of reaching.

     Outwards she stretched her hand, except a dull shade of purple tinted her vision.  She paused several feet from a—for lack of better words—bubble that had encased part of the road.  It diverted both Power Man’s charge and the heavy sign to the side, away from the whimpering civilians inside.  Ava blinked as the bubble flickered then faded to reveal one figure more than she had noticed before—a curly-locked female with a frightened looked across her heavily freckled face.  Her semi-tan skin seemed to pale several shades when she noticed Ava’s inquiring gaze; however, a snarl from behind was probably a likelier cause.

     “Oh, there you are, little witch!” Smokescreen cried while barreling past Ava.

     Ava immediately sliced her electric claws through the air.  Smokescreen spun from grasp, though, sparing only a dirty look before continuing after the head of white hair that already left the couple.  Smokescreen's quick steps cut off the new mutant’s escape route in seconds.  The freckled female skidded to a halt right onto her butt, stopping at Smokescreen’s damaged boots.  Her hands rose in defense and, with them, so did another purple bubble.  Smokescreen’s immediate punch bounced right back as if she had hit a trampoline, so she prepared for a second.  That fist met with the open palm of a blonde male.

     He appeared suddenly with the crisp crackle of electricity and he retaliated with a punch of his own.  Its electric force sent Smokescreen sailing backwards in the air as if she had touched a live transformer with a metal rod.  Her smoking body rolled to a motionless heap in the neighboring street.  Then the blonde turned to Ava.

     “Stay away from my sister,” he snarled—Midwestern accent clear.  His face would have been attractive—with his Roman nose, strong chin, and striking icy blue eyes—if it weren’t for his contorted scowl.  And raggedy clothes.

     “Kevin,” the white-haired teen started from the ground, “she wasn’t—“

     “What did I tell you about blowing our cover?” Kevin snapped back as cold as his glare.

     “But—“

     “Oh, I don’t care, Z.  We would be at our goal by now if it weren’t for those three; we can’t afford giving them more chances.”  Kneeling, Kevin helped his sister up effortlessly then kept her close.

     “Wait, you two are from Enderlin, aren’t you?” Ava inquired as she rested a hand on Kevin’s covered shoulder.  The blonde charged up just enough for Ava’s arm to retract with a terrible tingle.

     “Hey now, not need for violence, Sparks,” Spider-Man spoke while flipping to land beside the trio.  “I know we still have The Trackers to deal with.  But after that, all we want is to talk.  Okay?”

     Kevin twisted towards the approaching hero, his scowl darkening.  “Yeah, sure,” he said in a clearly caustic manner.  “Says Fury’s search dogs.”

     “Hold up.”  Spider-Man paused just beside the teleporter.  “So you know Fury already?”

     Zap!  The hero received a reply in form an electrified grasp.  Ava retaliated with a growl above her comrade’s scream as she swiped Kevin across his sullied T-shirt instinctually.  The blonde released Spider-Man, reaching for his new wound.  In this time, Ava twisted behind to enhance her spin kick, which landed on Kevin’s solid side so hard he also spun.  The male stumbled, but didn’t fall.  And heavy footsteps from behind drew his attention.

     “Touch her, Caulfield,” started Kevin bitterly in complete disregard of Ava, “and I’ll make sure your sister’s heart _stops_ next time.”

     Six Arms—who Ava had turned against in defense—ceased his charge several strides away.  Glaring, he glanced at his fallen sister still lying uncomfortably in the street like a dropped rag doll.  A moment passed.  After another clear glare, he headed for his sister’s direction while backing up in caution—mainly directed towards Kevin and not Ava.

     “Trickster, we’re going!” he called out.

     “Aw, but I was just having more fun with the glowy one,” a whimsical voice answered. 

     There was a sudden weight that landed on Ava’s tense shoulder, startling her into a defensive stance.  She glanced forward at Trickster’s horrible fashion sense then grimaced as the man turned to give a sickening wink at her prior to meeting his accomplice at Smokescreen’s side.

     “Hey, we ain’t done with you yet!” Power Man bellowed near Ava’s side.

     The powerhouse stampeded forward even though the trio had already disappeared down the road.  He stopped when Kevin manifested before him.  The pale mutant glared behind the blinding display of electricity around his muscular form.  Power Man raised a fist, but like with Smokescreen, Kevin responded with a great amount of shock.  The African-American fell to his knees only after the teleporter upped the current.  As his strained cry rang out, Kevin appeared before Z and Ava rushed to her fiend’s side.  Slowly, her vision raised to the siblings, narrowed.  Z flashed a sympathetic look that Ava hardly considered until the two vanished in a flash of light.  With them gone and The Trackers long out of sight, Ava turned to Power Man fully.

     “Are you okay, Lu—Power Man?” she asked, hating the way he cringed and hissed in pain.

     “Iron Fist,” the hero croaked.  He looked over his broad shoulder and Ava followed suit.

     Behind them, the Chinese strip laid in utter ruin.  Rubble here, glass there.  Tables and chairs were strewn across the hazard zone like sprinkles atop a cake.  There was a distinctive acidic scent in the air, and amongst it was the face-down form of Iron Fist receded into a deep crater in the street.  After another glance at Power Man, Ava rushed forward.  Gingerly, she picked his dense body up, placing it face-up outside the crater.

     “Iron Fist?” she questioned to his stirring figure.

     “Y—Yeah,” the blonde responded.  He shakily adjusted his yellow bandana mask then groaned as a trail of blood slipped from beneath it.  “P—Power Man had Six Arms again.  Are they—“

     “He’s gone,” added Ava.  She frowned behind her mask when Iron Fist sat up and scanned the area.  “Yeah, all three.  We got our asses handed to us, and it wasn’t thanks to them.”

     “It wasn’t?”

     Ava sensed the blonde’s eyebrow raise. 

     “Well, it wasn’t entirely thanks to them,” a familiar voice interjected.  The duo twisted to greet Spider-Man’s limping body.  He brought Nova along—from God knows where—though the Hispanic didn’t speak or raise his head while leaning on Spider-Man for support.  “Sparks didn’t help.”

     Iron Fist wiped the blood from his face, asking, “Who?”

     “One of the refugees.  And boy, does he pack some gigawatts.”

     “So they _all_ got away?”  The blonde’s vision drifted towards Power Man, who just approached.

     “Looks like it,” the dark-skinned hero replied lowly.  He held onto his left arm, cringing behind his sunglasses that somehow clung to his dirty face still.  Ava’s question about his arm went unvoiced, though, thanks to a cry from a very dissatisfied boss in the background.

     “What the hell is this?” Fury screamed like—to Ava—an upset mother.  The SHIELD Director stalked forward on heavy boots that brought him close to the group.  But not too close, as if the teens were in danger of being smacked.  “This”—he motioned to the mess surrounding them—“is _not_ minimizing damaged!  What were you thinking?”

     “Sorry, Sir,” Spider-Man replied, even.

     “Sorry doesn’t cut it.  And where are The Trackers?”

     The group leader met Fury’s gaze, unblinking.  “We’ll get them Fury.  Things came up.”

     “Heroes don’t have the luxury of excuses,” the Director retorted as his one eye narrowed further.  “Ask any one of them.”

     “I’ll be sure to add it to my to-do list.  Tony might be missing me anyway.”

     “Parker—“

     “We controlled what we could, _alright_?”  Spider-Man’s tone adopted a slight edge.  He resituated Nova’s arm over his shoulder when the fatigued hero stumbled in an attempt to stand.  “We’ll do better next time; we have to.”

     “Y—Yeah,” Nova said though a labored breath, head down.  “We’ll get them.  Just need…another…chance…”

     “And we didn’t leave the battle empty-handed,” interjected Power Man weakly.

     “Oh?”  Fury turned to the teen, who gave a small smirk, jabbing a thumb in the direction of a sheltered spot that resembled a cave.  In it, a quivering Frenchman crouched, possibly too shaken to realize the fight had ended.

     “You got Leaper again.”

     Fury deadpanned.

### ━❖━

 

     Denied.  The Board of Directors had actually _denied_ the proposition?  Why?  It had been an irresistible opportunity for greatness—a step closer to keeping par with those _mutants_.  What human wouldn’t jump at such a chance?  Because of a bit of risk?  Ludicrous!  All things in life worth an ounce reward came with a bit of risk.  So why deny the project?

     The answer was clear.  Because they were scared, obviously.  Scared Metavenum would end up like Maya Hansen’s and Aldrich Killian’s Extremis.  Scared of failure.  They had always been scared, relying on ridiculous standards of safety and ethics as a guide for their decisions.

 And then there was Tony Stark’s big mouth.  The fool wasn’t involved in the company at all, yet he still retained an impact over their feeble minds with private visits.  Pathetic.  Though as much had been expected, there had also been the small hope of acceptance—for once, acceptance.

     Not that their approval mattered that much or made a significant difference in what had already been put in motion.  Enderlin had ended in disaster, yes.  Thanks to that damned fear.  But many of the scattered kids had already been tracked, and the Board’s support would’ve only eased some financial burdens.  Things were still manageable, regardless of their short-sightedness.  Well, they were so long as the press remained positive and the trump card’s expenditure didn’t inflate any more.

     “Greedy little dog,” a sharp voice hissed.  Several quick clicks echoed through the vast office as a slideshow of profiles scrolled across a display of holographic screens.  “And what have I got to show for it?  The kids I want most are still at large and the three I sent after them are performing a less-than-satisfactory job.”

     “Talking to yourself again, Doc?” a new voice—this one deeper yet silvery—added.  Not one footstep sounded across the metallic floor, however; not even when the voice drew closer to the glowing screens.  “You really outta find someone; that ain’t healthy.”

     “As are many things you partake in.  Yet I don’t concern myself with them.”  A double click rung out softly and a selected profile glowed red, darkening with the text ‘contained’ over it.

     “I go through the trouble of finding Espello for you and that’s the calloused response I get?”

     “I hate your exaggerations, you know.  You aren’t that sensitive.  You’re only here for the money.”

     The second voice chuckled.  “That is a plus.  But I did warn you about cutting corners with freebies.  The Caulfields and Kakar are amateurs.”

     “And you have so much experience being twenty-two.”

     “I still have more than them.”

     “You’ve played your role with Espello,” the first voice snapped.  A few more profiles were marked.  “I need you sparingly now thanks to the Board.  Besides, if SHIELD gets a hold of anyone, it can’t be you.”

     “And yet if they get captured, you’re still sending me after them.”  Not an ounce of doubt tainted the second voice and the first voice sighed.  “You’re a strange one, Doc.”

     “All you care about is a paycheck.  So long as your receive that, you’ll go where I send you, when I send you.”

     “Fair enough,” said the second voice, drifting with a ghostly echo.

     “If you’re needed in New York, I’ll send you.  In the meantime, I pay you enough to keep me out of your little games.  So leave.”

     “As you wish.”  And with one final chuckle the office fell silent.


	5. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While patrolling, Iron Fist and Nova follow a lead that places them with three of the Enderlin runaways.

* * *

 

     Saying Samuel Alexander was used to being considered the ‘reckless one’ would be an understatement.  By now, he expected it.  Though he couldn’t quite understand it.  Webs could be and often was just as reckless.  Even Luke and Danny had their moments, with Ava in a league of her own.  Yet Fury always—always—looked at him first when it came time for blame. 

     What?  Did a sign hang above his head or something?  One that said ‘Hey, I’m blame-worthy; over here!’  That must be it since the alternative was that he was a worse hero than the others in his team.  And that sure as hell wasn’t true.

     “Stupid Fury,” Sam muttered sorely.  Near ten at night, he flew low to New York City’s rooftops because he had been paired with Iron First for patrol.  But he’d admit; he was paying the Fortune Cookie little attention as he scowled.  “It wasn’t my fault.”

     “You keep repeating that, friend,” said Iron Fist evenly.  The blonde’s glide across the ever-changing roofs was flawless on light feet, and Sam followed the movements while flying sideways in the May air.

     “Duh, because I’m still pissed about earlier,” the hero spat, glaring beneath his Nova helmet.  “Why was I the one singled out for Chinatown?  Luke did just as much damage as me.”

     “So, you would rather a comrade take the blow of Fury instead?”

     Sam scoffed at his friend’s calm, almost patronizing tone.  “I’m just saying, we usually take the blame together.  But not tonight, _apparently_.”

     “Forgive us, friend,” Iron Fist noted bleakly after a small pause.  The blonde glanced Sam’s way.  “We all felt you needed to hear him out, but you wouldn’t wait for him to finish.”

     “Why?  So I can hear him call me a ‘cowboy’ and point out all the things I did wrong?”

     “Sam”—Sam barely kept his mouth shut at his friend’s stern address—“To make mistakes is only human.  But to turn a blind eye to them is foolishness.  Sometimes we need another’s help in recognizing our own faults.”

     “What faults?” the Hispanic snapped before maneuvering so he faced Iron Fist head on.  “Heroes take action.  It’s what I do.  He can’t be mad at me for that.”

     “He’s not,” Iron Fist retorted, voice sharpening.  “If you had stayed to listen—actually listen—then you would know that.  Fury’s point was that you had let a haughty attitude keep your guard down and Trickster gained an upper hand over you because of it.  A couple almost _died_ yesterday.”

     “Hey, I wasn’t the only one out there this afternoon!” Sam cried with an instant flare through his aura.  He felt his fists and jaw clench with a rising fury over the memory, yet didn’t let their screams dwell in his skull.  “What about you?  Or Ava?  You could’ve gone.  We are a team, right?”

     “We are.  But this is the second time in a week civilians have been harmed.  Though blame isn’t meant, both times were due to your actions.”

     “Yeah, I can tell it just _kills_ you to throw me under the bus.”

     “Listen, Sam.”  Iron Fist stopped on a wide, flat roof, meeting his friend’s glare coolly.  “We only mean for the best, even Fury.  His ‘cowboy’ comments are only meant as a guide of how dangerous you’ve been acting.  Sometimes the wisest thing to do is to understand before acting.”

     “What I _understand_ is that the Trackers need taken down!” the Hispanic countered, a growing fire in his tone.

     “Sam—“

     “It’s Trickster’s fault for what he did to me.”

     “He can’t control you; merely influence you.”

     “You’ve been under his influence too, Danny.  You know it’s more than that.  He warps your mind.  How can I be blamed for that?”

     Slowly, Iron Fist shook his head.  “You aren’t being blamed for any such thing.  Fury simply wants you to take responsibility for your actions—intentional or not.  If anything, you’re being blamed for a lack of control.”

     “I have full control,” Sam noted over the blonde’s weak sigh.  He crossed his arms while still suspended in the air.  “Are you saying you would confess to something your body did, say, subconsciously?”

     “In this case?  Yes.  Because Trickster’s power lies in belief.  Since we’re aware of that and had the chance to plan a counterattack, our actions are soul-bound to us.”

     “We got Coulson as a principle.  What chance are _you_ talking about?”

     “That aside, you should know better than to blast your way in without bothering to address the enemy as someone worth caution.”

     “Trickster—“

     “As you said, warps your mind.  That’s why you should have guarded it against him.”

     “I did.  He just…”  With a twitch, Sam’s voice dropped.  Like the small pit in his stomach.  “He didn’t go down.  Then he used that stupid camouflage power.  That I _didn’t_ know he could do.”

     “Versatility and adaption: skills we should know well.”

     Sam flashed a look at the stony blonde.  “How are we supposed to adapt to him, exactly?”

     “Mental preparation is the best method; however,” Iron Fist narrowed his eyes, “even I know how strong Trickster’s hold is.  What did he convince you of?”

     “Huh?  Oh, well…that’s—uh…” 

     Sam didn’t want to recall it, honestly.  And he knew his friend could tell as much.  Still, even after the Hispanic’s attention drew to the roof in silence, the blonde continued his annoying stare, pressuring Sam with a cool, penetrative gaze until he groaned.

     “The jerk-wad got under my skin at first,” Sam grumbled as his boots touched the concrete beneath him.  “You know.  Saying stupid things.  Then he got…worse.  Like, did you know his left eye can _paralyze_ you?”

     Danny remained unblinking, answering, “Yes.  I read his file.  Unlike some."

     Overachiever.

     “Whatever.  Anyways, when I managed to break free of that, he started whispering in my ear like some creep psycho in a horror flick.  He made me feel—cornered.  Like everyone’s eyes were dissecting me, criticizing me, and my only chance f—for survival was to blast my way out…”

     He could still remember the creeping crawling feeling, the shortness of breath, the loud thump of his heart in his ears.  It was unnerving.

     “Sam,” Iron Fist started, low, “something tells me…that’s a genuine fear of yours.” 

     What?  Sam’s eyes snapped up instantly and Iron Fist raised his bare hands in defense.

     “Hear me out, okay?  It’s something I’ve noticed.  Trickster doesn’t just induce paranoid; he reads people.  So the truer the root of the paranoia, the stronger his power is.  And his hold over you was quite powerful.”

     “So?  He got a hold of you too!”

     “It’s not an insult.”

     “Oh, yeah?”

     “Yes.  Perhaps while working with the Guardians, Rocket especially—“

     “Don’t”—Sam glared, dark—“bring them into this.”

     “It’s a point, Sam.”  Iron Fist gave a small sigh at the Hispanic’s pointed finger.  “Rocket’s known for being trigger-happy.  As are you.  So if you found a way to rationalize the fear, tame it, instead of barging into battle blindly—then you could strengthen your mind against Trickster.”

     Scoffing, Sam rose into the air, not quite able to smirk at his Nova power’s warmth surging through him.  “Or I could always strike harder and faster than last time.  See if his skinny ass can take _that_.”

     For a long moment Iron Fist silently stared, unmoving before he shook his head.  “You know the very definition of madness is attempting the same thing multiple times and expecting different results….right?”

     “I’m not mad.”

     “No, just thick-headed.”

     Sam twitched beneath his helmet.  “You know what, Danny?  I—“

     “Hey, you kids, get back here!” a male screamed in a strong Asian accent.

     The heroes shared a mutual look—words lost.  Immediately, they headed for the roof ledge across from them then peered at the street below.  Sam’s eyes narrowed as they closely followed the wide backside of a salt-and-pepper-haired man dressed in all white with an apron.  A cook, no doubt.  Chinese, judging by the waft of sweet and sour pork that hit Sam’s senses.  The balding man shook a chunky fist and ahead of him two figures could be spotted.  No bigger than pre-teens, they weaved through dense New York traffic, jumping over and between cars.  At one point, one even flew—not far or long, but it surely read abnormal.

     “You don’t think—“ the Hispanic started.  His gaze locked on one figure’s pair of insect wings that seemed to glow in the moonlight.

     “Yes,” Iron Fist interjected while poised on the ledge.

     “Then let’s go get them.”

     “No.”  A firm arm kept Sam near the building. 

     He faced the blonde’s grip on his shoulder then up.  “You want to call the others first?”

     Iron Fist shook his head.  “Let’s see where the kids lead us first.  If they’re part of the group that The Trackers are after then it would be best if we approached as a small band.  Anything more could be…overwhelming.”

     “Overwhelming?  Really?  For the guy that shocked the _hell_ outta us earlier?”

     “We’re losing them.  Come on.”

     Oh, well.

     Sam followed Iron Fist closely as they descended to street level then crossed traffic much easier than the kids had done.  Once on the other side, Sam preformed a steep ascent for a bird’s eye view.  He spotted the duo not too far ahead.  They stuck along narrow back-alleys in the block’s maze, though the winged-one had difficulty maneuvering them. 

     Iron Fist about missed a turn they had taken until the figure’s wing knocked over a stack of trashcans with a metallic clang.  The blonde backtracked to the alley when the figures sped up.  They crossed the four-lane road on the other side of a building Sam had to round.  Then, they jumped a chain-link fence.  The drop on the other-side was surprisingly steep and had they not been mutants, Sam was certain they would’ve broken bones instead of landing as gracefully as they did.

     “What is this?” the hero asked when he joined Iron Fist at the low level.

     “Old subway entrance?” Iron Fist suggested.  He did a quick sweep of the bus-size area, which smelled strongly of dirt, oils, and pungent plants. 

     It was overgrown, clearly unkempt.  Many mature, ugly weeds grew along the concrete wall’s bottom, around the wooded area to the left, and up and through a concrete awning that had a wide, dark mouth at its back. 

     “It may have been a service entrance of some kind,” the blonde continued, distant, “being hidden like this.”

     “Well, the kids went in there, so let’s go.”  Immediately, Sam flew forward, lighting the way with the blue glow of his aura.

     Iron Fist soon caught up, silent, and not long afterwards a soft scratching echoed in the track’s deteriorating hall.  Sam paused.  So did Iron Fist.  They didn’t share a look, but knew one should glance forward and the other, back.

     “I’m not seeing anything,” noted Sam.

     “Over here,” Iron Fist whispered.

     Turning, the Hispanic flew where his friend eased forward.  He landed beside Iron Fist when the blonde paused then charged a hand for a clearer view of the two figures that scrambled as far back against the grimy wall as possible.  A glimpse of blinding white and bright green forced Sam to take a step back.  A glimpse of gray fur and pink skin caused him to yelp in a high-pitched voice.  His glow flickered and he did contemplate running full-force out of the dark hall.  Until Iron Fist gripped his tensed arm tightly.  Too tightly, actually.

     “She’s _not_ a rabbit,” the blonde said under his breath.  Then, the grip fell.

     “I—I know,” Sam retorted, shivering.  Rabbits weren’t weasels or rodents, but they still felt the same.  Even mice.

     “Hu—humans aren’t welcome here!”  One of the kids had spoken.  Their soft voice shook with anxiety behind their North Dakota accent and hardly sounded threatening at all.

     Sam gathered energy back into his hand.  Though still uneasy, he kept an even expression, eyeing a short figure dressed in soiled street clothes.  Her fair features were delicate—Asian for sure.  And behind her, a pair of large, graceful wings were lifted high.  They reflected the light of Nova’s energy and their shape clearly defined them as those of a Lunar Moth.  Well.  When she gained more years, she definitely would be a looker.  But her eyes?  Those weirded Sam out greatly with their pure black coloring and slight bulge.

     “Dude,” the Hispanic directed towards Iron Fist, “she looks like a kid’s fairy doll.”

     “Wh—What then?”  the moth mutant asked, voice rising.  “I’m _not_ a girl!”

     Sam raised an eyebrow behind his helmet.  “Oh?  Sorry?  Do you…want to be considered a woman?  You aren’t quite at that age.  How old are you?  Ten?”

     “I’m thirteen,” the mutant answered with a mild glare behind ashy-gray bangs.  “And I’m a _boy_.  My name is Trent Harford.”

     “O—Oh…?”  Try as he may, Sam still couldn’t see an ounce of masculinity in Trent.

     “My friend _apologizes_ for the misconception,” Iron Fist interjected, calm.  Sam turned his head away when he sensed the blonde’s gaze land on him.  “There’s no need to fear us; we mean no harm.  Trent, who’s your friend?”

     “Sh—she’s—“

     “My name is Minerva Cunning,” the second mutant replied.  Her voice sounded dead; deeper than Trent’s tone with less of an accent.  She rounded her companion (who stood a few inches shorter than her) to meet Iron Fist’s gaze first then Sam’s.

     The hero shivered involuntarily.  Of course, she had to have mousy features.  Even in the more human parts of her: like her tanned skin tone brushed with light fur and her round eyes with large, dark irises.  Most of her body was covered by baggy clothes and an aviator scarf around her neck.  But her hands and feet remained exposed. 

     With good reason, too.  Gloves and shoes would’ve just been awkward.  They were all similarly deformed to represent mouse paws—pink, fleshy, fuzzy, and clawed to boot.  Gross.  She kept them curled, which was her only sign of fright, and shifted in the increasing silence, which revealed a slender, twitching tail behind her feet.  It also brought attention to the round mouse ears that protruded from the sides of her head.

     “If you don’t mean any harm then why were you chasing us?” Minerva questioned flatly.  Sam eyed her as she situated a worn pair of aviator goggles over her eyes, brushing aside the straight-cut bangs of her frayed, black hair.

     “We needed to meet,” Iron Fist answered.  “We only want to talk.”

     “Everyone only wants to talk.”

     “But we mean it,” Sam added loudly.  “Or, at least that’s what he says.”

     Without looking, Iron Fist bent the Hispanic’s pointed thumb backwards.  “We want to help.”

     “If that’s really true, leave us alone,” Trent snapped over Sam’s small whimper.  Now he sounded like a boy.  Kinda.  “We can’t trust humans.”

     “Aw, but we’re special,” Sam chimed with a fake smile and a rub of his thumb.

     “Nova.”  Iron Fist spared another look then stepped forward.  “Who told you that you can’t trust humans?” he asked, ever calm.  “Was it Kevin?”

     The two remained silent and stone-faced.

     “You don’t have to fear humans,” Iron Fist pressed.  “People are people, regardless of what powers they have.  Just like you wouldn’t like to be judged as ‘just a mutant’, we don’t want to be judged as ‘just humans’.  There are good and bad in both species.  And we’re good, so we want to help.”

     “We already have someone we plan to meet for help,” Trent retorted.

     “And he’s not human,” Minerva added.

     Iron Fist stepped forward, his arms raised slightly.  “Please.  I assure you, if we had been in Enderlin, we would have helped then, too.”

     “ _Don’t_ mention Enderlin to them, please,” a new voice interjected in panic.  Instantly, Minerva and Trent rounded Iron Fist and Sam, heading for someone in the darkness.  “Did you guys get the food?” the same voice continued, softer in its accent.

     “No,” Minerva replied.  “Trent dropped the bag when he ran into some trashcans.”

     “I—I’m sorry, Zeelan,” said Trent glumly.

     “It’s okay.  We’ll try somewhere else.”

     “We could give you food,” Iron Fist offered.  Was it bribery?  Sam couldn’t tell.

     “I don’t think my brother would like that very much,” responded Zeelan with a sigh. 

     The kids let the new figure approach Sam’s light while they sought distance from the heroes.  A young woman sent them a sad smile—her wide, dark eyes lined with insomnia.  The flowy skirt and tank-top she wore looked in worse shape than the kid’s clothes and her lightly-tan skin didn’t glow as healthy as it probably should.  She appeared starved, honestly.  Like a hobo.  Only a dense dusting of freckles across her skin, as well as a knotted mess of white curls convinced Sam that this mutant had been the one Ava mentioned earlier.

     “Your brother,” started Iron Fist after their brief pause, “he’s the one that attacked my friends?  The teleporter.”

     “Yes,” Zeelan replied, grim.  Her dark eyes settled on the blonde, taking a little more time to notice him then they did Sam.  “He was mostly mad at me.  Kevin tends to be…well.  I know I shouldn’t have gone out there.”

     “You can think that.  But know if you hadn’t, that couple would’ve died.”

     Sam shot his friend a look.  The words felt like a jab in his gut, and when Iron Fist only spared him a glance, he glowered.

     “I—I didn’t think about what I was doing,” the white-haired mutant mumbled while rubbing her thin arms.

     Iron Fist gave a short nod.  “A sign of a heroic heart is performing a good deed by instinct.”

     “I don’t know about heroic…” Zeelan blinked slowly.  “How are they, though?  The couple?”

     “They’re fine,” the blonde answered.  “The woman had a broken leg, but nothing critical.”  He then smiled at her relieved sigh.  Like it was charming or something.  “It’s good that you care.  Maybe, we can get you to hear us out then.”

     “About what?”  Zeelan spoke hurriedly and with a tinge of weariness.

     “We want to help you with The Trackers—me and my team.  To do that, we’re going to need your trust.”

     “From someone who hasn’t even told me their name?”

     “Hey, you haven’t asked,” interjected Sam, pointing an accusing finger.

     “Forgive the rudeness,” Iron Fist said in that polite voice of his.  “I’m called The Immortal Iron Fist, and my friend here is Nova.”  The Hispanic raised an acknowledging hand.  “And yourself?”

     “I…”  The mutant’s gaze lowered.  “I’m Zeelan Weir.”

     “Zeelan.”  The blonde maintained his smile somehow.  “Is it possible you could get an audience with the group’s leader?”

     “O—Oh, no.”  Zeelan shook her head, waving her hands ahead of her.  “Bad idea.  That would be my brother.  And he thinks you’re with SHIELD.”

     “We are,” Sam blurted, and the mutant froze.

     “Th—then you really shouldn’t be here right now.  My brother can show up at any minute, and I don’t want him to hurt you.”

     Sam sent her an even look.  “And if we aren’t _supposed_ to leave?”

     “Would you be willing to at least talk with him for us?”  Iron Fist sent Sam yet another look and kept his tone as pleasant as possible.  “Tell him we can help keep you safe.  If you just give us a chance then—“

     “I can’t promise anything,” Zeelan said in just above a whisper.  Her accented voice cracked with either tiredness or frustration.  Possibly both.  “Knowing you’re with SHIELD just…complicates things.”

     “It usually does,” muttered Sam sorely.

     “He just won’t…those agents in town.”

     “Won’t what?  Who are you talking about?”

     “Nothing.”  Backing up, the freckled mutant joined Minerva and Trent, urging them further into the dark subway. 

     “Please, try to talk to him,” Iron Fist added.  “You can’t keep running.  I’m certain your brother knows that.”

     “I—I don’t know.”

     “Just think about it.  If you change your mind, you can contact us.”

     “How?”

     “Huh?  Well…u—uh.”

     “I got this, Mister Smooth.”  With a soft snort, Sam extended his left hand, his unhooked wrist communicator pinched between his fingers.  Zeelan flashed a weary glance at it and he sighed, tossing it forward.  “Don’t worry, I just opened it up and fried the tracker.  It can’t be traced.”  But though she had caught it, she looked ready to drop it at any given minute.

     “Thanks,” she said, low, “and I’m sorry about this.”

     “About what?”

     Purple flashed.  A solid force hit Sam in his gut.  Hard.  The light from his aura dissipated as he hit the concrete wall behind violently then slid to the floor with a loud grunt.  Deeper in the subway, voices echoed like chattering ghosts, but once Sam readjusted his Nova helmet, they stopped.

     “Geeze, are we really going to help _that_?” the Hispanic hissed at Iron Fist, who he sensed approach.

     The blonde helped him to his feet.  “She’s just scared, Sam.  You shouldn’t hold it against her.”

     “Yeah, says the guy who _didn’t_ get blasted!”

     “No, I did.”  When Sam illuminated the barren area again, he noted Iron Fist’s stern stare, as well as a small cut across his nose.  Great, it could match the one on his cheek.  “She just doesn’t want us to follow,” Fortune Cookie continued.  “And that’s fine.  It’s very likely…she will call.”

     “And if she doesn’t, we just lost a lead.  And Fury will chew _me_ out for it.  Thanks, teammate.”

     “We will both be pressured,” countered Iron Fist as he headed for the exit.  Sam followed suit, brooding.  “That won’t matter, though.  It’s more obvious now that Fury has omitted other details about Enderlin then we originally sensed.  And I’m willing to endure a bit of scolding to figure them out.”


	6. Change

* * *

 

     Zeelan Weir’s stomach grumbled in hunger.  It wasn’t the calm ‘I just skipped a meal’ hungry.  Nor the ‘Dude, I’ve been weeding fields all day and haven’t had a bite to eat’ hungry.  No.  It was an intense, gnawing hunger that left deep pains in one’s gut—one which brought frequent bouts of lightheadedness and nausea.  It was constant, fierce, and stemmed from months of occasional snacks.

     Yet it still paled in comparison to the sight around her.

     She sat, slumped, against the warped, tin wall of a long, narrow room while the others talked ahead of her.  The metallic floor was littered with grim and dust and rust grew everywhere the eye could see.  It smelled disgusting, like it had been used as a tom cat litter box for decades.  Which it probably had been, seeing as how the car was one of many in a stack of shipping container ‘apartments’ that had failed to make it through renovation.  Even if she could eat, Zeelan felt confident that she was incapable of handling any food while seated there.

     ‘ _Though Lutefisk sounds amazing right now_ ,’ she thought.  The image of soft, gelatinous whitefish served with potatoes and bacon entered her mind.  But as soon as another nausea spell hit, she shook her head free of its ghostly scent.  Lightheadedness soon followed, so the white-haired mutant leaned against the wall, even though splinters of rust poked at her skull.

     Two.  Three.  She inhaled a deep breath then exhaled as the blots in her vision diminished.

     “Oh, are you alright, Z?”

     Zeelan craned her neck sideways, smiling weakly while orange-brown eyes stared at her in concern.  “Yeah, I’m fine, Thera.”

     “You sure?”  The slender teenager—an auburn-haired female with three star tattoos on her left cheek—scooted closer so she could place a scaly hand on Zeelan’s forehead.  Gently, Zeelan pulled Thera’s hand away, not once grimacing at the small strands of slime that connected them.  Thera, ovular face scrunched in disbelief, shook her head.  “Uff da.  You feel feverish.  And look ready to pass out.”

     “Oh, I’m as fit as the Klingbeil’s prized bull,” Zeelan pushed with a little laugh.

     “That bull died last drought.”

     “Oh…right.”

     “You want some of my sandwich then?”

     “No.  You’re way thinner than me; you eat it.”

     “Are you—”

     “Yes.  I’m sure.  Besides…Kai and Kevin said they had a plan for tonight.”

     “Means we’re going to _steal_ some more.”  Thera’s voice dropped to a whisper beside her friend.  With a noisy sigh, she sat back on her butt and nibbled at a half-eaten sandwich that borderlined being spoiled.

     Zeelan frowned at the redhead’s downcast expression.  A small tremor raised the rich red and gray scales shielding Thera’s tanned skin—from the crown of her forehead, down her temples, under her high cheek bones, to part of her tense jaw and exposed shoulders.  That happened a lot when she was upset.  Well, that and some extra protrusion of the dorsal spikes that ran down her spine.  Zeelan was mindful of this as she wrapped an arm around Thera’s shoulders (between the short spikes) and gave her a quick hug.

     “None of us like stealing,” the curly-haired mutant muttered.  “K is used to being upstanding, so I know…it upsets him as well.”

     “What are we going to do?” asked Thera glumly.  In one large bite she polished off her questionable sandwich, but didn’t bother moving.

     Zeelan turned her head forward to watch her brother and Kai speak in hushed tones with Trent and Minerva.  “You mean…”

     “I don’t want to keep scrounging around for food in restaurant dumpsters,” the scaly mutant continued in an undertone.  “We can’t live like this.”

     “I know.”

     “It’s been two months since we left Enderlin.  We’ve come a long way across the country and for what?  We still can’t shake those—those _traitors_.  The nicest meal we’ve had was a kid’s meal after Kevin swiped someone’s wallet last month.  And now he says the school is out of the question until we’re off SHIELD’s radar?   I can’t—I’m _tired_ , Z.”

     “Yeah, me too…”  Frowning, the grip Zeelan held on Thera tightened.

     “And I’m scared.”  Such a broken voice seized Zeelan’s chest.  “I’m scared of them finding us.  The Trackers, SHIELD, anyone.  We can’t hide in plain sight anymore thanks to those _agents_.  I’m stuck, looking like _this_.”

     “Thera—”

     The redhead shook her head strongly.  “I know what you’re going to say.  It’s not true.  Mermaids are pretty.  I just look…Seriously, just _look_ at my hands, my feet.  The webbing.  And the slime and smell?  I have the aroma of a fish butcher shop!”  By now, tears glistened in Thera’s pained eyes.  They didn’t fall, though, not even when she ran her webbed hands together, observing the dense coat of scales across them.  “Trent, Mini, Kai—we’re all in the same boat.  Not you and Kevin, though.  You guys can actually hide.”

     “But are you really jealous about that?” countered Zeelan, sullen as her arm fell to her side.  “I barely knew you before the Enderlin Uprising, I know.  But since then I can tell…what you really want is to stand in the crowd as you are, full mutant.”

     “I’ve never been scared of being myself before,” Thera confirmed with a quick side-glance.

     “Then I’m confused.”

     “Oh, I want to be fearless, Z.  I do.  That’s been hard since Enderlin, though.  All those months with people being snatched?  The questions?  The bodies?  The uprising?  School.  Then our families—”

     Zeelan frowned, knowing just where the conversation was leading.

     “It—it was hard, but you knew where your loved ones stood.  I still don’t.  Except for…Oh, I had never been so scared in my life as when my transformation was forced in front of them.  I’m haunted by their eyes.  Those looks.  I don’t want those looks from anyone ever again.”

     “Oh, Thera, I’m sure they—”

     “Z, can I have a word with you?”  Stiff and stern, the voice no doubt belonged to Kevin.  Zeelan glanced up from her floor seat and found her blonde sibling staring downwards.  He kept an even gaze with folded arms, but it couldn’t fool her; his bright blue eyes always betrayed him.

     “Have I done something wrong?” Z questioned easily.

     Those bright eyes narrowed further.  “Next carrier.  Now.”

     “But I was talking with—“

     “Oh, It’s alright, Z,” Thera said, soft as she stood.  “Mini, Trent, and I wanted to play a game of ‘I Spy’ anyway.  I’ll see you later.”

     Zeelan frowned, watching Thera meet the others across the room.  Trent sent back a weak wave from their midst, which Kevin broke up when he pulled his sister off the ground.  Z followed her sibling faithfully afterwards, only because a private talk best suited the argument she sensed in the near future.  The next container smelled twice as bad as the last, and she was plumb thankful it wasn’t one of the containers chosen as temporary bedrooms for the group.  Once a safe distance from one another (and the others), Kevin faced Zeelan.

     “You talked with them yesterday,” he said, frank.

     “Who?” Zeelan shot back.

     “Oh, don’t play dumb.”

     “Would I do that to you?”

     The blonde scowled at her weak smile.  “Normally, no.  But Trent and Minerva finally told the whole truth.  I knew your story sounded strange, but didn’t pressure it when you said you had spotted them in the area last night.”

     “It _was_ true,” the sister muttered, remembering how she had riled her brother into teleporting them out of the old subway.

     “What did I tell you about them?”

     “Don’t talk to me like I’m six, K.”  With a mild glare, Zeelan took a step back.  “Besides, what could you know about them?  They weren’t in Enderlin.”

     “Doesn’t matter,” Kevin snapped.  “They’re SHIELD agents.  You _can’t_ trust them.”

     “But what if we can?  These ones are different.  They aren’t like the ones from home.  Or…or Illinois.”

     “How so then?  They still want you to come to SHIELD.”

     “They never mentioned that.  All they want is to help us.  I could _see_ it.”

     “No.”  The brother shook his head, blue glare still hard.  “Your powers are unpolished, Z.  You know your Radiesthesia is only partly reliable.”

     “Not this time.”  Taking a few steps forward, the younger mutant spoke with animated arms.  “I could sense it clearly; at least from one of them, Iron Fist.  There was no black in him.  He was being honest.”

     “You don’t know _what_ the colors mean.”

     “Come on, K; you know I wouldn’t vouch for an agent of SHIELD or rely on my Radiesthesia unless I was _sure_.”

     “I won’t take that risk.”  Scoffing, Kevin then headed for a window, which was nothing more than a large spot that had been eaten away by rust.  “I picked New York because of the school.  Then the city because it’s the densest place to live in the States.  Hiding in the wilderness didn’t work for us in Illinois, so I had hoped we could disappear here.  And move on…”

     Zeelan frowned as Kevin grew silent before the setting sun.  She couldn’t ignore the flashes of reds and grays surrounding his lean form like a demonic halo.  The colors emanated an uneasy vibe, and the traces of black in them felt foreign.  They made her miss the displays of warm yellows and oranges that used to balance the aura two months ago.  At least then, it still felt as if he had some life left…

     “We can’t keep running, K,” started Zeelan softly.  She longed to touch her brother’s arm, as it was a habit, yet she forced herself to stay put since he would only push her away.  “The group can’t handle much more, you know?  At this rate our merciful death will be starvation.  Or sickness.”

     “We’re _not_ going to die!”  Kevin whirled as strongly as his voice, veins of electricity dancing across his form.  The hair on Zeelan’s body rose at their intensity.  “I’m going to fix this.  Us.  Them.  _Without_ SHIELD!”

     “We’ve tried that already,” countered Zeelan, though not as fierce.

     “And we’ll _keep_ trying!”

     “Admit it, Kevin; we need help!”

     “No; I can do this, so lay the fuck off!”  A bolt of lightning struck beside Zeelan’s foot, barely missing her worn flats.  Kevin’s glare faltered a moment when a second one struck between her legs, though once he regained control with a deep breath, it returned.  “We can’t shake the Caulfields and that freak Indian,” he continued in a calmer tone.  “I know that now.  So I’ll have to do something else.”

     “Like actually finish our trip?”

     “You know we can’t until SHIELD’s _eye_ is off us.”

     “Then…what?”  Honestly, Zeelan feared the answer.

     “I’m sure, with enough power…I can do it.  I told Flint I would.”

     “Oh, no”—the words left Z’s lips as a strangled whisper—“Oh, no.  No.  No. No.  _No_.  You can’t do that, Kevin.  Believe me.  It’s _not_ you.”

     Slowly, Kevin’s gaze fell to the dingy ground and the black spread in his aura like a grim spider’s web.  “It wouldn’t have to be long and painful.  I could make it quick.  Like when Reyes and y—”

     “ _No_!”  She no longer cared if her brother would swat her away; Zeelan closed the distance between them and shook his tense arm harshly.  “How dare you even _consider_ it!” she hissed with prickling eyes.  “I—I don’t care what it would do to them.  I care what it would do to _you_.  That—that’s pain you don’t want.  Trust me.”

     “This group needs safety,” the blonde countered.  He sounded distant, though; almost like he was in a trance.

     “Yes, it does.  But you’re better than that.  You’re the guy that has always stuck up for the little people in school.  E—Even in Kindergarten.  You’re a protector.  You _aren’t_ a killer.”

     Kevin swallowed audibly with small beads of sweat running down his neck.  The transfer of energy from him through Zeelan’s hand started to sting.  Still, her grip tightened then eased to a stop.

     “We can only trust one another,” the blonde whispered.

     Zeelan sighed.  “That leaves us running for the rest of our lives.  We—we can’t do that.  Thera?  Mini?  Trent?  They can’t handle that.  _I_ can’t handle that.  We need a change.”

     “I’m sorry.”  Kevin spoke sudden and stern.  His cool gaze returned in an instant—like his sweat didn’t exist—and it settled on his sister for a moment.  Then, he backed away, standing well over a half-foot taller than her.  “They won’t take us like the others from home.  I promise I’ll find a way to make it better.”

     “Without giving that team a chance?”

     The blonde stared.

     “Of course.”

     “You were right not to stick around with them very long last night,” added Kevin monotonously.  “It could have been an ambush.  So thanks for telling me before more of them arrived.”

     “Yeah,” Zeelan grumbled, “no problem.”  At her sigh, the clicks of large boots sounded as the male neared.  He lifted his sister’s chin gently and the warm look in his eyes reminded her of their early childhood.

     “Trust me, Z,” he said, low.  “We don’t need them.  Kai and I are doing the food run tonight.”—the man said this with a shamed look—“We’ll be sure to bring back enough this time.  Meanwhile, I’m counting on you for the safety of the others, alright?”

     Zeelan nodded, silent.  She remained stationary when Kevin leaned down for a kiss against her cheek and even after he left the room, she continued her stare at the red sun beyond the hole in the container’s side.  It grew dimmer behind the cityscape haze, sinking like the heart in her chest.

     ‘ _What should I do now?_ ’ she thought.

     Iron Fist and Nova had extended their hands—not SHIELD.  Still…they were associated with the organization.  She didn’t want to fall under their microscope, intentional or otherwise.  So should she really risk it?  Was she brave or stupid enough to try?  That was usually Kevin’s department. 

     Oh, Kevin.  He would never let her go anyway.  Was there even a choice to contemplate?  Ugh. 

     Jaw tense, Zeelan glanced down at the fists she hadn’t realized she clenched then back at the bleeding sky.  One hand slowly eased its way into a pocket on her skirt as the pinks of the atmosphere grew muddier.  Soon, her trembling fingers wrapped around Nova’s strange wristwatch and the sun set completely.

     Guess it was settled.


	7. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ava and the gang follow Danny to a ritzy restaurant to meet a surprising guest.

* * *

 

     Saturday.  The pinnacle of a nice, long weekend, right?  Wrong.  Not when you’re a superhero in the middle a mission.  Forget one that’s part of SHIELD.  They treat you like dogs on steroids.  Ava could feel deep stings in her muscles as she walked, twitching, locking.  She groaned while stretching her back, though it only caused it to pop painfully.  And audibly.

     “Dude,” Sam whined while hunched over, “are anybody else’s muscles screaming bloody murder?”

     “Soreness isn’t supposed to set in until twenty-four hours,” added Peter, a small tremble in his voice.

     “What does that mean for us?” Luke asked glumly.

     Ava answered him with a long sigh like the rest of the group.  Well, save for Danny.  He walked alongside them completely upright, as if he hadn’t been put through training hell by SHIELD’s Director for the past six hours.  The blonde faced Ava and gave a small grin.  It seemed suspicious.

     “Where exactly are we going for dinner, Danny?” she questioned with slightly narrowed eyes.  That grin grew a little more.

     “Yeah.”  Sam decreased his speed from the front of the pack so that he stood between Ava and Danny at the back.  “How much longer will this walk be?  I’m _starving_.”

     “It’s just another block,” the blonde answered.  He picked up speed to meet Peter at the front then took a left at the next intersection they approached. 

     Ava shared a look with Sam, but said nothing more on the matter.  The group fell into casual conversation—mostly about food.  Sam started listing all the dishes he could have made at Peter’s house with Aunt May by now, and Ava fought the urge to snap at him when her stomach began to growl.  Of course, by that time they had reached their destination.  Apparently.

     “Danny, dude,” Peter said, awe-struck, “I—I can’t even afford to _look_ at the waiters in here.”

     Ava would second that.  If she could speak.  Along with the others, she looked up and up at the Gothic building ahead.  Its width matched that of a small mansion.  Its height rivaled the Oscorp building if you counted the two towers at the top.  She couldn’t fathom just how much gold lined its arcades and niches, and the stone it had been carved from looked more like polished marble.  Arched above its rose window was the fancy wording ‘La Château’ in—guess it—gold.

     Was this supposed to be a tease?

     “We aren’t really eating here…are we?” she questioned carefully.

     Danny had already reached the grand entrance, though, smiling back at the group.  “It’s okay, friends.  I have this covered.”

     “Wait, isn’t there supposed to be some kind of dress code, even if we did go in there?”  Ava frowned, glancing at her civilian clothes.  They were a far cry from formal.

     “Yes,” Danny answered, “but I have that covered too.”

     “I don’t know, Danny,” started Peter.  He scratched the back of his neck and opened his mouth, only to be silenced when Sam dashed passed him.

     “Hey, he says it’s all good, Pete!”  Arms raised in excitement, the Hispanic raced through the open entrance, nodding his head at the stoic doorkeeper that stood beside Danny.

     Peter didn’t bother fighting any longer, and Luke gave a shrug before following Sam.  Ava walked at the back, watching as her friends filed one by one through the doorway that probably cost as much as a condo.  Inside was filled with just as much splendor as the outside.  Its high-rise ceilings gave it the presence of another world with its soft, jewel-like lighting, hanging chandeliers, and subtle pastels across its curves.  Expensive art hung all along the walls, and marble flooring looked just as pricy.  The various levels of seating bustled with faint clanks of silverware, though the live piano music played over it, as well as the chatter of patrons. 

     Ava glanced over the room uneasily.  She hated how self-conscious she felt in the presence of so many nicely-dressed people—especially when they glanced her way, grimacing.

     “Reservation for Rand,” Danny said politely.  Ava broke eye contact with a particularly snobby woman that sent a disgusted look back to her blonde friend.  He stood before an ornate podium of mahogany, where a willowy man dressed in a black suit studied a large book.

     “Ah,” replied the Maître D' in a nasally voice.  “There you are, Sir.”

     “Has my guest arrived yet?”

     “His what?”  Ava did a double take on the slight eagerness in Danny’s tone.

     “Yes, Mister Rand,” the Maître D' answered.  He adjusted the thin-rimmed glasses higher on his parrot nose.  “And the spot you had requested has been reserved.  She’s there now, waiting.  Larry will show you to your table.”

     “Thank you.”  After a slight bow, the blonde followed a new male—short and heavy-set—while the others glanced at one another in confusion.

     They soon meet the duo in an elevator fit for a thirty-person weight limit then waited patiently until reaching the fifteenth floor.  The doors opened with a dainty chime and the group exited into a place lit by hanging paper lanterns that illuminated cavern-like architecture.  Larry led them through a small maze of booths set into faux rocks towards the back. A turn down a narrow corridor placed them in a private section with rice paper walls on two sides and masonry on the other two sides.  In alien respect, Larry gave a bow as he slid the entrance open.

     And Ava froze at who she saw inside.

     “You!” Sam exclaimed with a little growl.

     A low, narrow table served a young woman on the tatami floor.  Her head snapped up suddenly beneath a cloak—dark eyes wide with alarm and mouth overstuffed with the dinner rolls she hoarded near her.  She tried to swallow prematurely, which ended in a coughing fit that spewed some partially-chewed food onto the table top.  The hooded-teen swiped the mess onto the floor with her bare arm—not meeting anyone’s gaze—and then chugged some water from a dainty glass by her hand.  Ava blinked, silent, when Zeelan placed the empty glass down.

     “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long,” Danny said upon entering the room.

     The teen fiddled with the ends of her curly, white hair over her hunched shoulders.  “No, I—I haven’t.  I had to work up the nerve…to go through the door.”

     “I’m a little confused about what’s happening here,” added Peter.  Still, he sat at the table, in between Luke and Sam.  Ava opted to sit on a zabuton pillow on the mutant’s table side, though on the other end.  Meanwhile, Danny chose a zabuton on the end that he placed close to his guest.

     “Alright,” Sam said sorely.  “ _Someone_ owes us an explanation.”

     All eyes landed on Danny.

     “Put simply, she called me,” the blonde answered, calm.

     “You mean the communicator  worked?” Ava’s eyes narrowed dubiously.

     “And you didn’t tell us?” Luke asked.

     Danny nodded.  “She called twice.  Once late last night and again when”—he twitched a bit—“when I was in the bathroom earlier.  I wouldn’t dare talk on the Tricarrier, so I quickly set something up when I could convince her to meet.  I kept it from you because I knew you would act suspicious in training.”

     “You really think we’re those kinds of people?” noted Peter, shrugging.

     “Question”—Sam spoke, sardonic, while raising a hand—“Why are we meeting her as _civilian_ s?”

     “Forgive me, friends; that was a decision I made.”  The blonde hero grimaced a little at the looks he received.  “It’s easier to hide as a civilian.  It makes this meeting more secure for all.”

     “Except for us, who you just _exposed_ to a stranger!”

     “He did no such thing,” the hooded-mutant interrupted reverently.  Her black eyes focused on Sam’s scowl, stern.  “Have more faith in your friends.”

     “Identities are sacred,” started Danny as his warm eyes panned around the table.  “We know hers as Zeelan Weir.  I had given her my name to show we’re on equal ground.  To show she can trust me.  I told her she would be meeting my team, but I didn’t give out your names.”

     “Only our aliases?” questioned Peter.

     “Yes.  I’ll leave it to you to decide if you want to tell her more.”

     He sounded keen on the idea, Ava noticed.  Which seemed strange.  Going as far as revealing their identities was extreme.  Yet Danny…She glanced at his encouraging smile and pressed her lips into a tight line.

     “Really?  You trusted her?  Just like that?”  Sam threw an arm in the air, rolling his green eyes until they narrowed at their blonde teammate.  “You remember she _attacked_ us, right?”

     “I said sorry,” muttered Zeelan, her North Dakota accent rising.

     “I sense she wants to do the right thing,” Danny added, glancing at the young woman beside him.  “I know you all can, too.”

     The Hispanic sat back with a pout.  “Yeah, well, she still hit me…”

     “So,” Peter said on the brink of cheer, “does this mean you’ll let us help?”

     “I…I…”  The mutant ducked her head so the brim of her hood casted a shadow over her face.  On the table, her hands retreated to her lap, though before she said any more, the rice paper door slid open.

     “Sorry about the wait,” a petite blonde woman said.  She wore a long kimono of pink and white with a wide smile across her soft features.  “How is everyone?”  The group gave a round of ‘okays’ as she neared.  “Well, that’s good.  My name’s Tiffany.  I’ll be your server tonight.  Can I—whoa.”  Tiffany paused, eyes set on the large, empty basket on the table.  “Did you eat all the bread already?  I think Sergio just brought that in not ten minutes ago.”

     Zeelan ducked her head even further.

     “My friend here is very hungry,” Danny replied with an easy smile.  “Is it possible we can get some more?”

     “Uh, yeah,” Tiffany answered.  The furrowing of her brows signified she was still trying to fathom where the rolls had gone, and after handing out leather menus to everyone, her eyes found the basket again.  “I’ll be back shortly with more bread,” she continued kindly.  “And I’m returning with two waters, a tea, two sodas, and a…milkshake?”

     Luke sent her a smirk.  “I can spoil myself on occasion.”

     Tiffany didn’t reply, but she did smile.  With a faint blush to boot.  Bowing politely, she then exited the room, leaving everyone to face the mutant again.

     “Th—thank you,” the white-haired teen mumbled towards Danny.

     “It is my pleasure,” he replied, light.

     “Alright,” Sam interjected.  “Now that that we’ve established Danny’s _completely_ off his rocker, you can give us intel about the group.”

     Meeting the Hispanic’s pointed finger, Zeelan’s expression turned stony.  “I’m sorry, Nova, Spider-Man; I didn’t come here on behalf of the group.”

     “You didn’t?” Ava questioned.

     “On whose behalf are you here for then?”  Luke’s large body stiffened, as if to prepare for a surprise attack.  But the mutant sent him a small, genuine grin.

     “My own,” she answered in a soft voice.  Then, she shook her head.  “You have to understand.  K—my brother—hates SHIELD.  I’m…not fond of them either.  K’s right-hand-man, Kai, isn’t sure of humans anymore.  Trent’s too scared to stray from K’s lead.  Mini will follow the group.  And Thera?  …She can’t stand any outsiders looking at her.”

     “That’s quite the Brady Bunch you got going there,” Peter commented as he leaned atop the table.

     “You have no idea.  Like Daniel asked, I tried talking with my brother.  He—he didn’t want to listen.  And if he won’t listen, none of them will.”

     “Yet you’re here,” added Danny.

     Zeelan faced him rather suddenly.  “I _didn’t_ abandon them.  I just want to help.  I know my brother’s stubborn.  And, honestly, your tie with SHIELD scares the hell out of me.  But we can’t do this on our own anymore.  As you said”—her voice cracked a bit—“we can’t keep running.”

     “What’s your plan exactly?” asked Peter with furrowed brows.  “If the group doesn’t want anything to do with us, then how—“

     “The group doesn’t want anything to do with SHIELD,” the mutant corrected.  “Daniel promised they wouldn’t be involved.  Or else…I wouldn’t be here.”

     “Did he now?”  The leader gave a long glance at the blonde that offered a lopsided grin.

     “Yes.”  Zeelan turned her head again—this time, towards Peter.  She hadn’t removed her hood, so the lantern’s light casted a strong contrast on the mutant’s face, revealing how sickeningly sunken her cheeks were.  “I want to thank you,” she started in all seriousness.  “For meeting me.  All of you.  And I hope I’m not out of line when I ask if you can train me.”

     “Train you?” Ava’s tone rose in surprise.

     “I’m _still_ not seeing a plan here,” Sam noted impatiently.

     “What kind of training?” added Luke, brow arched.

     The freckled mutant raised her hands in defense.  “Listen.  The only way I can convince the others to trust you is to get to know you personally.”

     “We aren’t a social group.”

     Immediately, Peter whacked Sam upside the head for his curt comment.

     And its weight brought a frown to Zeelan’s shaded face when Sam’s eyes landed on her.  “Look.  If I have experience with you, I can vouch for you.  And they’ll actually take me seriously.  The way I see it, training would be the perfect way.  I—I mean, I’ve never done any kind of fighting before.  I’m an ice skater.  But, honestly?  I want to learn to defend myself…and others.”

     “That’s a tricky request,” Peter noted while making a face.

     “Yeah,” Sam chimed callously, “we barely have time to sleep while under Fury’s schedule, let alone train someone outside of it.  Ow!  Really?”  The Hispanic glared at the leader, who just elbowed him in the side.

     “Oh, I feared as much,” mumbled Zeelan with a sigh.  Under her hood, she looked to pale several shades as she studied her clenched hands.

     “If this is what must be done, I’m willing to try,” Danny spoke calm and certain.  His green eyes softened when the mutant raised the back of her fist to her mouth in a gesture nauseous people used, and he quickly retrieved a short trashcan from the room corner for her to take.

     As she leaned over it, retching violently, Sam began gagged.  “Aw, that’s rank!”

     “You ate too many rolls,” said Ava kindly.  “It’ll take time before your body’s ready for an actual meal.”

     “I—I guess,” Zeelan muttered after a hard cough and burp.  “Lutefisk still sounds nice, though…”

     “What's Lutefisk?” Sam asked.

     But Peter dashed the chance for an answer and sent the mutant a sympathetic look.  “We may not be able to train you, but there could be anoth—“

     “Sir?  Sir?  You can’t go in there; you don’t have a reservation!”  Tiffany’s voice rung loud despite its muffling from the walls.

     A pulse of adrenaline stood Ava alongside the group.  She quickly turned to the doorway, which shot open with a harsh clap of wood against faux stone.  A tall man stepped forward, boots stomping with every step along the rough floor.  Even with Tiffany behind him, speaking of protocol, he forced outright aggravation from his expression.  Ava knew that only because she had been working for him for so long.

     “F—Fury?”  Peter croaked in his faltering stance.

     But the Director hardly acknowledged him; his single eye remained fixed on the mutant who had pushed off her zabuton in panic.  “Hello, Miss Weir.  You’re under arrest.”


	8. Focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Zeelan's taken prisoner on the Tri-Carrier, Danny's feels it's his place to watch over her. Which may prove a challenge.

* * *

 

     SHIELD prisons didn’t look comfortable.  This one was no exception.

     While such had never been a concern of Danny’s before, it was now.  He frowned at the specialized glass wall spread before him—from reinforced titanium wall to reinforced titanium wall.  Its ceiling, floor, and back consisted of the same gray material.  And no furniture had been set up, save for a recessed toilet and a single line of florescent lights.  A honeycomb-like pattern engraved all throughout it must have been uncomfortable to sit on.  The hero knew it was actually an electrical grid to keep dangerous criminals in check.  A feature reserved only for the few cells in isolation, he was just thankful it hadn’t been used.  Yet.

     “Are you really going to keep her in here?” Spider-Man asked indignantly.  Like the others, he had changed into uniform after the scene at La Château a few hours prior, and his eyes narrowed at the collected Director.

     “Of course,” answered Fury.  He stood straight before the glass with his arms folded behind his back.  “You see how dangerous she can be.”

     “Uh, I wouldn’t call _that_ dangerous!”  The leader gestured towards the glass wall just as several loud thumps sounded.

     Danny followed the hero’s hand towards the white-haired teen spinning wildly within the barren cell.  She jerked about, screaming through hindering walls like a trapped animal.  He could sense it clearly; her Chi was fluctuating in fear.  It was especially evident with her mutation.  Purple bubbles—force-fields of Psionic energy—swelled and popped all around the enclosed area.  They were useless, though, in the environment Fury apparently had prepared for who knows how long ago.

     “You don’t?” Fury tested.  “What would you call it then, Parker?”

     “I’ll take ‘reasons for desperation’ for twenty-five-thousand, Mister Trebeck,” Spider-Man countered sardonically.  Danny faced the duo at his left.  Fists clenched, the team leader neared the tall man who didn’t bother gracing him with a look.  “Hell, even I would act like that if you forced me into a cage.  Well, I’d have a few more witty remarks.  Even so, my point stands.”

     “You did outright kidnap her from dinner,” Power Man noted with a short, deep growl.  He stood behind Danny; the blonde felt it.

     “Yes, we did,” Fury responded callously.  “And I would like to thank you for cornering her; it made the arrest easier.”

     “How’d you know we’d even be there?”  Power Man’s question sunk guilt into Danny’s chest, especially when Zeelan released another startling sob.

     “And why was her arrest necessary to begin with?” asked White Tiger.  Her bare eyes were narrowed as she raised a clawed hand in frustration.  “You haven’t given out any answers, even after immobilizing us.”

     “Yeah, _totally_ uncalled for, by the way,” Nova added from beside Power Man.  “I can still feel my lips tingling.”

     The SHIELD Director twisted towards them.  “I’ve told you kids only what you needed to know.”

     “Except that you wanted to arrest the group, not help them,” Spider-Man snapped.  His lithe form was beginning to shake with an anger that Danny sympathized with fully.  “You _lied_ to us, Fury!”

     Fury stood strong with a deep frown on his face.   “This mission was mine; I had a right to keep whatever I wanted from you.”

     “Are you serious?”

     “Dead serious.”

     “What could she have possibly done to deserve this?”

     “That’s on a—“

     “’Need to know basis’?” inquired White Tiger bitterly.  She huffed, letting everyone know of the patience she currently lacked.  “We’ll find the truth, Fury.  If not by you then through some other means.  You owe us an explanation.”

     The man didn’t want to concede: that much was certain.  Still, he drew in a deep breath and once his gaze returned to the glass that thumped again with a popped force-field, he spoke begrudgingly.  “After Enderlin, a fraction of SHIELD agents started tracking Kevin Weir and his group.”

     “You mean you knew who this group was from the beginning?” Spider-Man injected.  He took a step back when the man sent him a sidelong glance.

     “My agents were perusing so they could offer refuge from The Trackers like many other fractions.  They finally met last month in Topeka, Illinois.  That’s when things turned sour. 

     “Mister Weir took weapons from them.  The kind you need special clearance for.  When the mutants wouldn’t return them, my agents were forced to retaliate.  And Miss Weir?  This girl you’re so keen on standing up for?  She’s wanted for the _death_ of one of those agents.”

     “Wait, wh—what…?”

     Danny’s eyes narrowed as Spider-Man gawked, yet he kept composed when Fury nodded.

     “As you can gather, agent killers aren’t taken lightly,” the Director continued, low.  “I wanted to spare you kids the ugly truth.  But now you have it anyway.  Happy?”

     “I don’t believe it.”  The words from Danny were solid yet respectful, and filled with an emotion that drew everyone’s attention to his even gaze.  “Forgive the bluntness, Sir.  But if you were to expand your mind then you would be able to sense it too.  Zeelan doesn’t have the heart of a killer.”

     “I’ve met mutants, aliens, robots, and gods, Rand.  My mind is _quite_ expanded.”

     “You see, yet you don’t perceive.  She had saved that couple Wednesday and since then has displayed a great passion for helping.”

     “Don’t lecture me!”  Fury twisted to narrow his eye at the blonde.  “She _killed_ Agent Reyes.  Trust me.”

     “Trust is a sacred thing that’s earned,” Danny countered.  “It is easily broken by lies and corroded by partial truths like yours, Director.  How can anyone ask trust from someone that they have manipulated?”

     “Let me guess”—Nova interjected as he rose from the ground—“your agents were having trouble capturing the mutants, so you thought we could do a better job.  I’m flattered, really.  I mean, I _am_ awesome.  But trying to trick us into bringing them in?  Not cool.”

     “And what about fair trails?” Spider-Man added after he front-flipped to land beside Fury.  “Innocent until proven guilty?  This is America!  Land of the free and brave.”

     Fury scoffed.  “And also home to some of the most dangerous of threats.  This is why I didn’t want you kids to take part.  You should just forget she’s here.  In time, her brother will come, and we’ll bring him to justice as well.  So do not”—slowly, the fierce man gave each team member a pointed look—“and I repeat, do _not_ interfere with his arrest.” 

     None of them answered.  Fury didn’t seem to care for a reply, though.  He told them all not to stay long, mentioning something of another mission and Coulson, then left the enclosed visiting area by means of a hydraulic, sidling door that locked behind him.  When the door’s final hiss dissipated, Danny glanced over his team.

     “Are anyone else’s ears ringing?” Spider-Man questioned, hitting one side of his head.  “Because I’m quite sure mine have just been filled with crap.”

     “Unbelievable,” said White Tiger in a heated tone.  “He played us.”

     “Now he thinks we can just focus on something else?” hissed Power Man.

     “I get the feeling we won’t have much choice,” Nova noted nonchalantly.

     Spider-Man glared at him.  “We _do_ have a choice.”

     “You plan to do something stupid, don’t you, Peter?”  White Tiger asked this quietly, gaze seeking an answer.  She received it in the form of a single look.  “Thought so.”

     “Hey, you guys don’t have to—“

     “Don’t start that, Pete,” Power Man injected coolly as he crossed his beefy arms.  “You know we gotta stand by you.”

     White Tiger also crossed her arms, saying, “You’ll just make a mess of it by yourself.”

     “And considering where she is, you’ll need all the help you can get,” added Danny as softly as possible.

     “Nova?” Spider-Man questioned to the floating Hispanic.

     “Yeah, yeah, I’m in and stuff,” Nova answered with a flick of his wrist.  “Fury and Coulson did tase my ass, so.”

     “And?” pressed White Tiger.

     The helmet hero sent her a look.  “And it’s right to help.  Even if she about gave me a concussion.”

     “Thank you,” said the leader under his breath.  He mirrored their nods then suddenly forced a laugh while smacking his leg.  “Man, you guys bring up the funniest jokes!  We’ll have to _tell_ that to Fury, for sure.”

     Tell?  Oh, right.  Surveillance.  The leader was attempting to look inconspicuous, only it remained unclear if the room’s audio was being recorded or not.  Danny (and the others) quickly picked up on his cue, laughing alongside him.  They continued their ruse as they headed for the exit, except Danny slowed behind them.

     “Before you form a plan,” the blonde muttered over Spider-Man’s shoulder, “I would like to talk with Zeelan…alone.”

     “What?” the leader whispered back.  “But Danny—“

     “It’s my fault she’s here.  I need to convince her we’ll make it right.”

     “What about Fury’s evil eye?”

     “Don’t worry, Webs”—Nova interjected, haughty—“I’ll find a way to put the feeds on pause.”

     Spider-Man snorted at the Hispanic’s smirk.  “Like you were reliable enough to shut down SHIELD security at my house?  Or fry the tracker in the communicator you gave Zeelan?”

     “Hey, I _know_ I fried it!”

     “Fried chicken is the best, isn’t it, _Nova_?”  White Tiger said over Nova’s scream.

     As she jabbed a pointy elbow into his shin by her waist, Spider-Man raced to the front of the group, walking backwards.  “Don’t be ashamed, Sam,” he said rather loudly, “there’s nothing wrong with making a mistake.  Sometimes, you just got to _start_ over with fried chicken.  It can become a _loop_ , as I’m sure you know.”

     “Yes, I _do_ ,” Nova countered.  “It just takes a few _minutes_ with the right utensils.”

     “I don’t know about you guys, but now I’m hungry,” Power Man added as the door hissed open.  White Tiger and Spider-Man passed through the doorway first, then Nova.  Danny paused with his best friend at the threshold to prevent the door from closing while Spider-Man and Nova did…supposedly, something helpful.

     “They shouldn’t stress about it,” the blonde commented in a hushed tone.  “It won’t matter if Fury hears what I want to say to her.”

     “Odds are high they won’t be able to loop the feed anyway,” the tall teen contributed, laughing for normalcy and sport.  “Regardless, you probably shouldn’t take too long.”

     “All I want is to apologize.  It’s because she trusted me that she…”

     “Hey”—Power Man spoke hastily while placing a strong hand on Danny’s shoulder—“It wasn’t your fault Fury found a way around your plan.  I’m sure you can get her to understand that.”

     “Yes; thank you, friend,” Danny said with a small smile. 

     The taller teen returned the gesture just before meeting White Tiger beyond the doorway.  Beside them, huddled in a corner riddled with control panels, Spider-Man and Nova gave two thumbs up.  Really, though, Danny doubted their goal had been achieved.  They didn’t look very confident.  And one panel sparked in the background.

     No matter.  He sent them a thankful nod anyway then walked to a display screen embedded before the glass wall.  A menu appeared.  The hero made quick work of adjusting the settings—one of which un-tinted the glass on Zeelan’s side so she could see beyond it.  One large force-field swelled in the process, large and imposing.  The moment the mutant’s dark eyes found his, it popped so fiercely it threw its creator into the back wall.

     “Zeelan!” Danny cried—a hand against the glass as she fell to her knees.  “Are you alright?”

     She didn’t raise her limp head.  Or move.  But the force-fields around her expedited in both their growth and power, and her Chi continued to climb in a supernova effect.

     “Zeelan,” the blonde added calmly.  “Please, listen.  I’m—“

     “You _promised_ he wouldn’t be involved,” the mutant interrupted.  Her scratchy accent could barely be heard, even though the sound had been turned up.

     Danny frowned.  “I know.  I…I’m sorry.”

     “You _promised_!”  Another force-field popped near the glass like an over-inflated balloon.  “You promised, and he was still there!  You _tricked_ me!”

     “No, that was never my intent!” the blonde added reverently. “Believe me.  Didn’t you say so yourself over the communicator?  That you felt our intents, our auras?  Chi does not lie.”

     The female gave a weak, almost delirious, laugh as her breathing sped up.  “I’ve been known to misread my Radiesthesia, though.  That’s why I’m here.”

     “I had taken all the precautions possible.  I assure you, I didn’t lie.”

     “I wasn’t referring to _your_ team…”

     Danny’s foot slipped backwards at such dreariness.  The toes of Zeelan’s bare feet started to curl and the hands at her sides tensed into tight fists.

     “I shouldn’t have done it,” she added in a tart, thick accent.  Two force-fields popped and four more took their place, growing.  “I should have just listened to my brother; I should have stayed away.  Fury’s going to find the others and it’s going to be _my_ fault.  We made a promise to protect each other, and now…”  Her head of wild curls shook.  “They’re going to _hate_ me!  What have I done?”

     “They won’t hate you,” Danny retorted automatically.

     “Oh, how can you say that?  You don’t even know them.”

     “You’re right; I don’t.  But if they’re people worthy of your concern, then they will understand.”

     The mutant huffed.  “No clue.  You all have no clue.”

     “About what, Zeelan?”

     “I feel the burning.  I feel his look.  The black.”

     “Zeelan?”

     “Or does it matter?  Maybe its better.”

     “ _Zeelan_.”

     “Will he forgive me?”

     “Zeelan, please!”  Danny barely kept his voice collected in his panic.  “You must _focus_ yourself!”

     The increasing number of Psionic force-fields that swelled within the cell was beginning to look like a container filled with gumballs.  A pressure like that would no doubt be contained with Fury’s precautions, but Zeelan’s body under such build up when it popped?  Danny didn’t dare think about it. 

     “Don’t let the emotions swallow you,” he added, calmer.  “Channel them.  Bite down the negative Chi like a pill and let the positive Chi inside you surround it like a cocoon.  Feel it ease your muscles, your power.”

     Slowly, very slowly, the bubbles faded from an opaque purple to a near-transparent lavender.  One by one, they diminished until only a few around the mutant remained.  Zeelan’s labored breathes grew into light sobs, yet she still didn’t look up from her slump.

     “I know you feel that you’ve betrayed your friends,” Danny continued carefully.  “Like I feel I’ve betrayed you.  But, in reality, neither of us has.  We’re merely faced with an obstacle and obstacles can be overcome.”

     “You think there’s a way out of this?” Zeelan grumbled.  She sounded tired, and her accent ran her vowels together.

     “I believe that no matter what, trails bring about growth.”

     “Are you always so optimistic?”

     “I do try to be.”  Danny gave a light smile as Zeelan’s glossy eyes lifted.  “I’m sorry this happened.  I truly am.  However”—his voice dropped so it couldn’t easily be heard, just in case—“my friends and I will still try to help you.  What Fury has told us makes little sense.”

     “What’s new?” the white-haired teen retorted with a flinch.  “What…what did he tell you then?”

     “We can discuss that another time.”  The blonde kept his tone low.  “I have to leave; my friends…aren’t exactly trust-worthy with electronics.  It’s best I don’t draw attention being gone too long.”

     “I see…”

     “I’ll visit again as soon as I can.  Before I go, though, can you give me an idea about where your brother may be?”

     Zeelan’s dark gaze hardened.  “Why?”

     “Because we don’t want him taking Fury’s bait, do you?  I would like to warn him.”

     “Oh…I wouldn’t worry about that.”

     Danny blinked.  “Why not?”

     “Because I left a note.”


	9. Shtick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In prodding Fury over Zeelan, Peter senses something more to the man's reasoning. Then, when he and Nova are assigned on a mission, they're ambushed.

* * *

 

     Ah, early Wednesday evening.  The sun was setting.  The moon was rising.  And the scent of coffee drifted strong throughout the Tricarrier.  Well, at least it did beneath Peter’s nose.

     The teen hero kept a keen eye on the mug in his tight grasp, careful not to spill a drop no matter which way he twisted, bounced, or flipped through the halls.  He did an exceptional job, if he did say so himself.  (Ignore Coulson’s claim otherwise.)  So by the time he entered Fury’s office, the mug continued to steam with its full glory.

     “Special delivery for one Special Agent Fury,” Peter chimed while offering the porcelain piece.  He flashed a cheesy grin behind his mask.  It couldn’t be seen, of course; however, the teen was quite confident the SHIELD Director sensed it.  The man’s lovely, even expression said so.

     “Where’s Agent Milton?” Fury retorted.  His good eye studied the black cup like it could explode at any moment or poison him by a single touch.

     “Oh, Milton,” Peter replied dismissively, waving a hand.  “I gave him a break.  Now, come on.”  He placed the coffee beside the control panel before his boss.  “Drink up!  It’s made just the way you like it: black.  Like your heart.”

     The man forced a sigh back, speaking without hesitation.  “Start this again, Parker, and you’ll land more missions no one wants.”

     The hero shrugged under Fury’s narrowed brown eye.  “What?  All I’m doing is giving you small prods to bring back your humanity.”

     “No, what you’re doing is beating down a nail that’s already set deep in the wood.”

     “That’s a weird analogy.”

     “Will you ever accept my decision, kid?”

      “Probably not.”

     “Well that’s too bad; it’s going to stand.”

     “Even if I say pretty please and bat my lashes?”

     “ _Especially_ then.”

     “Oh, come on!”  Peter groaned in powerful exasperation as his shoulders stooped.  “I seriously think you’re being too harsh.  You won’t even give her a chance to explain her side!”

     “Forensic evidence doesn’t require explanation,” countered Fury, tone strained.  “The prisoner killed my agent, and I have eye witnesses from the team who will corroborate that.”

     “That _prisoner_ is named Zeelan,” the teen said with a frown.  “And regardless of that, she deserves a chance to be heard.”

     “You think that about everyone.”

     “And how many times have I been right?”

     “Fewer times than you’ve been wrong.  Just drop it, kid.”

     “You know I can’t do that.”  Peter’s words were frank and brought a scowl to his boss’ face.  “She’s been ignored for four days already.  You threw her in solitary with no regards whatsoever like some escaped zoo animal and then you expect me to just be _okay_ with it all?  Sorry, normal people aren’t that heartless.”

     “And you think I’m okay with it?” Fury added sorely.  “You think I _like_ keeping young women contained?”

     Peter opened his mouth.

     “Don’t answer that.”

     Then closed it.

     “I don’t like it one bit, Parker.  It’s simply what must be done.”

     “One of Agent Fury’s famous lines,” the teen all but grumbled.  “Look, ‘this ain’t my first rodeo’.  I’ve dealt with misunderstood threats before—like Hulk and Doctor Connors.  After all this time, I know what one looks like.”

     “You saying she ‘misunderstandingly’ killed my agent?”

     The teen flashed a look.  “I’m saying there are such things as set-ups.”

     “Now my agents are dirty?”

     “Who’s to say?  Maybe we would know more if your bug trap wasn’t sucking the energy out of our other eye witness.”

     “Now you’re going to complain about our safety features?  To weaken her mind, we must weaken her body.  Otherwise…well.  You saw Saturday.”

     “Right, right.”  The hero’s tongue clicked.  “Because she was such a threat trying to run away from you.  But who can blame her?  I mean, who _wants_ to come to the surly face of a—”

     The Director’s hard, intense expression cut the hero off.

     “Alright, alright; I’ll be serious”—Peter raised his hands in submission and spoke as if a switch for his humor had suddenly been flipped off—“You should give her a chance.  Even if, like you claim, she’s done something terrible, you should at least listen to her reason for it.  So many people have been incarcerated or mistreated because of assumptions or misunderstandings.  So we, as the good guys, should try harder to fight for them.  Take Sandman, for instance.”

     “We were _both_ wrong about him.”

     “But you hoped he had been rehabilitated.  Right?”

     Silence from Fury.

     “Flint Marko is a man who’s unstable and done so many wrong things,” Peter continued, heartfelt, “yet you dared to hope.  Why can’t you do the same for Zeelan?  Everyone deserves a chance.”

     “We’ve talked _enough_ about this, Parker,” the Director snapped coldly.  He raised a thick fist, clenched, over the control panel above his legs, yet stopped it from colliding with the component once a mere fraction away.  Then, he breathed deeply, almost solemnly, as the fist fell to his side.  “Agent Reyes was a _good_ agent that wouldn’t have done anything that deserves death.  She wouldn’t have provoked Miss Weir into such a situation…”

     The hero cocked his head at the light tremble in Fury’s words.  “Fury…did you and Agent Reyes—“

     “You called for me, Sir?” a new voice interjected.  Of course, Danny.  Groaning on the inside, Peter watched his friend walk from the door to behind Fury’s computer seat. 

     The Director shifted and then stood so he looked down at the blonde, who returned the man’s hard stare with a very Zen-like expression.  “Yes, I did,” he answered critically.  “We have something to talk about.”

     Peter glanced between the duo, silent in anticipation.

     But Fury’s side-glance rendered the teen sighing as he said, “Alone, Parker.  You have a mission with Nova.”

     “Ah, man, seriously?”

     “He’s been debriefed already by Coulson.  Get the details from him.  You leave now, so go meet him.”

     “Where?”

     “I don’t care where, Parker; just go find him!”

     Fury pointed a strong finger, to which Peter glared at mildly for several seconds.  Only when Fury’s nostrils began to flare did the teen flip towards the office door like the graceful gymnast he was.  Naturally, a sly glance over his shoulder was spared at the two that remained silent in wait.  The teen exited without a fight in full knowledge that Danny would later give a recount of what Fury had to say.  Or he’d better.  If he didn’t, Peter would make him.

     In the hallway, Peter slammed into a passing body.  The light stinging of his nose, which had collided with a metallic helmet, caused the teen leader to rub it tenderly until a familiar voice spoke up.

     “Jeeze, watch where you’re going, Webs; I need this pretty face.”

     “Dude, I was walking just fine,” Peter countered while invading his teammate’s personal space.  “It’s _your_ big head that takes up the whole hall.”

     “Oh?”  Nova snort-laughed.  “My big head?”

     “Yeah!”

     “Look who’s talking.  I’m surprised you even _fit_ in the Tricarrier!”

     “That’s saying something, coming from the guy who—“

     “Come on, you two; you have a mission to accomplish.”  Coulson’s voice erupted like an alarm yet he casually stood between the silenced teens.  Peter jumped, backing away from the agent that stood upright with hands clasped behind his back and a light smile across his wide mouth.

     “Dude, how do you even do that?” questioned Peter breathlessly.

     Coulson’s smile grew.  “Years of practice.  Which you earn from missions, by the way.”

     “Point taken, Coulson,” Nova added with a huff.  “But what Fury’s been assigning us these past few days have been insults, not missions.”

     “Not all missions are glamorous,” the older man countered, smile dying.

     “So give those ones to the guys without super powers,” the Hispanic noted easily.

     Peter gave a slight nod.  “Even I have to agree with Bucket-Head.  Fury’s basically been using us as errands boys.  Do we look like the UPS?  No.  None of us have the scrawny legs to pull off those Khaki shorts.  Save for Nova.”

     “Hey!”

     Coulson sighed as Nova glared at Peter.  “Have you kids learned nothing while working with Damage Control?” the agent asked.

     “This has nothing to do with collateral,” Nova cried.

     “Apparently you didn’t.”

     “This is just Fury’s punishment for us not agreeing with Zeelan’s arrest.”

     Coulson knew that was true.  Otherwise, he wouldn’t have hesitated.

     “Look, kids, Fury may be trying to keep you busy.”

     “ _May_?”

     “Parker.”

     “Listening.”

     The agent’s thin lips pressed at Peter’s fake innocence.  “None of SHIELD’s missions are unimportant—no matter the details.  Remember that.”

     “Got it, Sir,” Peter replied with a weak salute.

     “Sure,” grumbled Nova as he hovered from the cool ground.  He sent Coulson a lazy look then started floating down the wide hall.  “Come on, Web-Head.”

     “Ah, Nova”—Coulson added frantically while Peter caught up with his teammate—“don’t forget this is—”

     “A guard mission.  SHIELD important.  Yadda, yadda.”

     “Yes, but it’s also—“

     “I _know_ , alright?  You’ve only told me, like, five times or something.  Sheesh.”  Nova, releasing a noisy breath, picked up speed as Coulson’s voice faded into inaudible babble.

     Beside him, Peter swung in perfect speed, asking, “So, where are we heading anyway?”

### ━❖━

     “This is a blood bank,” Peter stated, bland.

     “Yes, it is,” Nova replied just as blandly.

     “An average blood bank.”

     “Yup.”

     “An old blood bank.”

     “Uh-huh.”

     “One that isn’t even in the Global Scientist’s Questionnaire as a top blood bank.”

     “And that dork gibberish is supposed to mean…?”  While floating several feet above an unimpressive wooden roof, Nova glanced at his teammate on the splintered tiles below.

     Peter barely acknowledged the Hispanic’s celestial glow in his peripheral vision—weary eyes set on the backside of a billboard that he knew displayed ‘Backer’s Blood Bank’ in faded paint. He threw his hands in the cool night air then said, “Dude, it’s not even in the top ten for the state!”

     “I’m sure geeks all around mourn with you, Webs.”

     “Is this place even legal?”  Pausing, the leader’s gaze landed on every uprooted nail and sunken section around the weather-beaten building set no higher than two stories.  “It looks like a Black Market advertisement for Dracula’s army.”

     The Hispanic shrugged at the pointed stare his teammate sent.  “Hell if I know.  But this is the address Coulson gave us.”

     “I’m finding it hard to believe that anyone would want to order a hit on this place.”

     “Well, it’s either a hit or a hand off.  Maybe both.”

     Peter flashed the contemplative hero a look.

     “What?” Nova countered with an easy shrug of his shoulders.  ”Does it really matter?  We’re watching for any sketchy behavior, right?  Besides, it’s probably all a ruse anyway.  Like that New Jersey mission where Fury had us search for an Asgardian ‘artifact’ in the city dump.”

     “Hey, I found a nice pair of sneakers that night,” the leader joked while flipping forward.  His sleek form landed with a crouch onto the lopsided billboard, whose wobbly form provoked a ‘woah’ from the hero.  Once steady, he then began studying the vacant street beyond for any suspicious activity.

     “You’re taking this better than I thought you would,” remarked Nova critically from above.

     “Yeah, well, I’ve got to keep my cool,” Peter replied frankly.  “If I don’t play along, Fury will have that much more reason not to listen to me.”

     “You still think you can talk him into releasing Weir?”

     “I have no choice for now; a break out isn’t possible yet—not with SHIELD’s security.”

     “And here you led us to believe that you would be assaulting solitary—webs swinging—the next morning.”

     “I thought better of it after a night’s sleep.”

     The Hispanic scoffed.  “You aren’t going to change Fury’s mind, dude.  No one changes Fury’s mind.  He’s Fury.  And the more _you_ keep prying into him, the more useless missions _we’re_ assigned.”

     “You guys agreed to back me up on this,” Peter said in a grim tone.  He craned his neck to glance at the glowing Nova that rolled his eyes.  “It’s the only plan we got right now.  I know Danny says Zeelan’s been growing depressed and restless, but she’ll have to be patient too.”

     “I don’t do patient very well, Webs.”

     “Yeah, I know.”

     “Can we at least hack The Trackers’ files?”  A sense of unadulterated desperation clung to the teammate’s words, lowering him closer to the rooftop as his arms spread.  “The reports Fury printed for us are probably half-true, so maybe they didn’t lose track of them after all.”

     “Why, Samuel”—Peter started comedically with a high, mixed accent—“What a blasphemous suggestion to violate the direct order of our superior.  You ought to be ashamed!”

     “…You’ve already looked, haven’t you?”

     In reply to Nova’s blanched expression, Peter gave a silly grin.

     “Dude, you went back without me?”

     “Relax.  It was a whim.  After you got Danny a clearance cheat to see Zeelan, I couldn’t’ fight the curiosity.”

     “Caving into curiosity isn’t a whim, idiot.”  The Hispanic hit Peter upside his head—an action that threatened to turn the leader’s fake tears into real ones.

     “Ow,” grumbled Peter while rubbing a new tender spot on his cranium.

     “Tell me what you found,” Nova continued hurriedly.  “Does Fury know who sent them?  And where they are?  Tell me you have an idea.”

     “As I expected.  You want to know for the sake of yourself—not Zeelan.”

     “So?”  Nova’s eyes narrowed in defense, rousing a small sigh from the spider hero.  “You kept me out of the loop because of that?  Come on, Web-Head, I _need_ to find Trickster.”

     “Your wounded pride is not what we should be focused on right now.”

     “He made me look like an uncontrollable idiot!”

     “And that isn’t normal?”

     “You too, in case you forgot.”

     “Don’t know what you’re talking about; the jumpsuit paralyzed me.”  Still, memories of the mutant’s penetrating voice sent a subtle tremor down Peter’s curved spine.

     “Whatever.”  The Hispanic growled as blue-white energy gathered around his posed fists.  “I want another shot at him.  And next time, I’ll level him into the pavement before he even speaks or hides himself.”

     “Focus, Sam”—Peter spoke sternly—“I didn’t read the files for that.  I was looking for more details into Zeelan’s supposed crime, and searching for some sort of clue that could hint towards a set-up.”

     “And what did you find?”  In a few short flickers, Nova’s energy dispersed.

     “A lot of…not good things.”  Eloquent, Peter.  But it was only Bucket-Head; he could deal with some blundering at such a late hour.  “Agent Reyes was killed by blunt-force trauma.  Head to toe—same impact.  Notes say it was caused by Zeelan’s force-fields, and she threatened to kill the other agents if they followed her.  Uh, she did that ‘viciously’, I might add.”

     “Yeah, she’s the definition of vicious alright,” noted Nova distantly.

     “I mentioned to Fury that Reyes’ body was found in the wilderness, so a slip down the steep cliff shown in the crime scene photos could have been possible.  But he claimed ‘no perimortem trauma indicated an intense fall down rocky terrain’.  Then he brought up the eye witnesses again.”  Peter paused.  “You know, I would really like to talk with them.  When I can remember their names.”

     “Do that, and Fury will be on your case worse than ever.”

     “Well, I happen to harbor immense experience in dealing with an upset Fury.”

     “Until he really slams down the hammer.”

     “Details.  I admit, though; my charm would work better if the man wasn’t so touchy about Agent Reyes’ death.  Speaking of which”—the teens’ eyes met—“have you noticed anything weird with our resident one-eyed troll?”

     The Hispanic flashed an inquisitive look.  “Is that supposed to be a trick question?”

     “No.  I’ve noticed it when he talks about her.”

     “Who?”

     “Agent Reyes.”

     “The agent was a girl?”

     “Apparently.  And I think Fury may have had a thing for her.”

     Stiff silence.  Two even stares.  Then, Nova’s face broke into a wide grin that reached from one side of his helmet to the other.  He floated lengthways in the air, holding his sides as fits of high laughter left him breathless. Peter frowned with half-lidded eyes, watching as his teammate rolled around.

      After a few moments, Nova regained his voice, saying, “A—a th—thing?  Fury?  Ye—yeah, right!”

          “I’m serious, Bucket-Head!” Peter cried while standing up straight on the billboard.

     “Can you just imagine Fury on a date?” added the Hispanic with no regards of his teammate’s huff.

     Disturbing flashes of Fury in a tuxedo, acting like a love-struck gentleman, raced through Peter’s mind; however, he quickly shook them away, glaring ahead.  “Look.  If we find out more about her, maybe we could convince Fur—Gah!”

     Ow, pain!  Peter cringed terribly as his Spidey Sense—again—rung milliseconds too late.  A startling force met his spine like a tackling lineman.  It propelled his lithe body over the blood bank’s roof and towards a tall building behind it.  But rather than arch downwards with gravity, whooshing wind beat against Peter’s ears as a sharp pressure around his arm drew him higher into the sky.  His squinted eyes landed on five gnarly talon-finger-things by his face, wrapped thickly around his bicep and smelling of sewer.

     “Buddy,” the hero chirped without seeing who they belonged to, “I know they’re expensive, but you really outta think about investing in a pedicure!”

     And he swung his legs upwards like on a jungle gym.  His pointed toes successfully kicked his assailant in the face and earned him freedom once the grip loosened enough that he could pry away.  He chuckled at the strange squawk that rang out then shot a glob of web fluid over the being’s head as he soared backwards.

     Now there was the matter of falling.  A glance down.  Yup, that was a long way.  And the buildings were all rather low.  Great.  Where was Bucket-Head? 

     Peter’s vision fell to the blood bank, where bright blue lights erupted in battle against its roof.  The hero couldn’t see Nova’s opponent—what with the rushing wind melding his mask to his face and all—but he narrowed it down to two possibilities: Electro or Kevin Weir.  Hum.  Toughy.

     “Come here, bug.”

     Peter twisted in the air at a fruity voice—mostly because it sounded teasing and not at all perturbed like he would have expected.  Again, his biceps were captured by strong grips, with him facing the opposite way of his opponent.  The soaring rate of their flight caused the hero’s body to fold in half and the strong pressure of loud, flapping wings kept his head ducked.  It all came to a sudden halt when he was tossed onto a flat rooftop.

     “Should I be thanking you for the save?” asked Peter once his rolling stopped.

     “If you had right manners, yes,” the figure—a male—answered. 

     The hero crouched in defense as he spared a moment to fully observe his opponent.  Alright, a fair-skinned Asian with an obvious love for athletics and the color magenta.  The majestic wings that sprouted from his back tugged tightly at his worn sweatshirt like they were still trying to escape.  And he remained standing on the roof’s cement ledge, his form awkwardly hunched because his feet and shins—well, they were mutated into chicken legs.  Or falcon legs.  Maybe eagle?  Regardless, they were meaty, avian and matched the golden-brown feathers that sparsely covered the young man’s body.

     “You got a permit for those wings?” Peter questioned with a little smirk.  “I’m not sure that’s a legalized mode of flight.”

     “I’m as legal as you are,” the Asian retorted evenly.  Then, his dark eyes narrowed behind limp, greasy bleached sections of his hair.  “My name is Kai, and I would rather not hurt you, Spider-Man.  So just cooperate.”

     “Yeah, blindly?  Sorry, _Kai_ , that’s not my shtick.  I’m more of a ‘observe your options in the midst of battle’ kind of guy.”

     Chuckling, Peter released two long streams of taser webbing towards Kai’s chest.  Their terrible shock met the mutant’s talons as he swiped the threads away, but only for a moment.  Kai retaliated by swooping forward like a hawk barreling down on its pry.  Peter had never been more thankful that he was more agile than a fleeing rabbit.  Every aerial attack, he bent, twisted, jumped, or flipped out of the way—until he could ground the mutant by binding his massive wings with large amounts of web fluid.

     “Why don’t you stick around for a while?” the hero teased while bending down to meet Kai’s glare.

     “That’s just weak,” the mutant retorted, face red with struggle.

     “Yeah, I know.  I’m usually better at this, honest.”

     Kai’s lips quirked into a smirk.  “So am I.”

     Swoosh!  A sudden wind pushed Peter off balance.  He skidded into the roof’s ledge as the mutant’s wings tore through the webbing like serrated knives.  Rising from the roof, Kai stared down at Peter’s new stance, silent sans the flaps of his wings.  It felt unnerving.  And a bit awkward.

     “What do you want from us?” Peter asked.  “Who’s your friend?  And wh—wait, did you say your name was Kai?  Are you Kevin’s right-hand man?”

     The answer came in form of an appearance.  Peter barely acknowledged a flash of blue electricity before a well-built blonde tossed a limp Nova at Peter’s feet.  The Hispanic groaned, and Peter kneeled by his side to help him up, though his narrowed eyes never left the teleporter.

     “Fury’s dogs”—Kevin started dangerously while taking slow, purposeful steps forward—“you have something of mine.”


	10. Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nova's been taken by Kevin Weir, and SHIELD's heat bares down on Zeelan stronger than before. Meanwhile, the Trackers tease a new plan.

* * *

 

     Great.  It blew up.  Again!  How many times did that make?  Zeelan had lost count after a hundred.  Frowning, the teen blew a long, noisy breath.  But it was useless; the wild locks of hair fell back into her narrowed eyes and the force-field between her cupped hands fluctuated.

     “Come on, Z,” she told herself lowly.

     The bubble flickered from its semi-transparent lavender to a deep purple back to lavender.  Then it popped.  The resulting wind upturned Zeelan’s hair every which way until the small burst dissipated and the mutant was left with only a prickle in her eyes.

     With Fury’s humming siphon around her, she couldn’t even form a small bubble.  Not that she could do much more than that to begin with.  On purpose, anyways.  That point aside, never would she have thought she would feel so vulnerable with restricted powers.  Yet here she was—dressed in loose prison garb while curled into the cell’s cold corner because she didn’t trust her back towards the glass wall.  And knowing she couldn’t defend herself left her wishing for her brother.

     ‘ _Kevin…I wonder how he’s doing,_ ’ she thought, wrapping her arms around her aching stomach.  ‘ _The note was a goose-chase.  I hate to have tricked him, but I wanted a few days with the team before…_ ’  The mutant sighed.  ‘ _Guess that doesn’t matter anymore.  He’ll soon realize it was fake, and what do I have to show for it?  Prison.  Ugh!  This is what I get for thinking positively.  I’ve gone seventeen years expecting the worst and never being disappointed.  Why on God’s good earth did I expect this to turn out well?_ ’

     Daniel Rand-Kai.

     His name stuck to Zeelan’s brain like dried cement at the base of her memory.  The blonde hero had been so convincing in their talks, so honest.  The moment she first met him, his aura alone reawakened the—dare she say it?—hope she had buried long ago.  It felt unnatural since she had grown used to expecting the worst of all things.

     Yet that soothing mix of earthy browns and greens with a subtle yet rich blue left her feeling light, unlike anything before.  She couldn’t describe why it attracted her so.  It just…did.  It gave a sense of security to trust in what she normally wouldn’t.  And falling for such a seductive aura had been what landed her in SHIELD’s hands.

     ‘ _He didn’t mean it, though,_ ’ she told herself on several occasions.  ‘ _The surge of black that cut through him at La Château must’ve stemmed from genuine surprise and frustration.  Fury hadn’t been part of the plan._ ’

     Knowing that didn’t help her sleep.  Or keep her from dreading the day Fury did find Kevin and the others.  She doubted she could face them—any of them.  But especially Kevin.  How does one face their brother after tricking him into believing you had led SHIELD off the group’s tail so they can escape the state and The Trackers?

     You don’t.

     Click, click.  Hiss.  Creak.  Cut from her thoughts, Zeelan’s heavy eyes lifted to the clouded glass ahead.  Her ear—flush against the wall at her side—picked up movement from the visiting room’s door, and by the time she straightened, ready for Daniel’s greeting, the dark coat on the glass wall quickly dissolved.  To a sight she would have loved to run from.

     “Wh—what’s going on?” the mutant questioned in a small voice.  The energy to yell had left her days ago, leaving her capable of only a wounded glare that she directed at Daniel—or, should she say, Iron Fist.

     “This isn’t what you think,” Iron Fist responded.  His boots echoed soft taps as he stepped forward in his green and yellow glory.  Then he glanced at Fury beside him.  “We—”

     “Your brother has Nova,” interjected the Director sorely.

     “…What?”

     “Tell us where to find him!”

     Was it just her, or did Fury look ready to pop?  The mutant remained silent where she sat.  Her gaze met Fury’s glare evenly.  And after a few short moments, the Director banged a palm against the glass with such power that Iron Fist side-stepped away and Zeelan’s stomach flipped.

     “I’ve had _enough_ troubles with you and your family, Weir,”—the man hissed through gritted teeth—“You tell me where the hell your brother took my agent.  Now.  Or you’ll find there are a lot of painful ways to survive solitary.”

     Zeelan didn’t trust his threat.  She never trusted anything he said—not even when she was younger and couldn’t see his murky aura of mixed intents.

     “Fury,” Iron Fist started, calm, as he approached his boss.  He mumbled something further that Zeelan couldn’t understand, but the disgruntled African-American let his hand fall then allowed Iron Fist ahead of him.

     “One chance, Rand.”  The director’s cold voice actually caused Zeelan to shiver.

     Her eyes met his one last time before the man whirled then headed for the door.  His exit was quick, and Zeelan was convinced if the door could slam, it would have done so.  Twice.

     “What’s going on?” she directed towards the solemn Iron Fist.  “What’s this with Nova?  And…why are _you_ here about it?”  He knew what she had meant; his subtle flinch said so.

     “Fury knows,” the blonde answered simply.

     “What?”

     “Please, do not panic yet.”

     Zeelan’s mild glare returned.  “Don’t panic?  You said—”

     “I said I would help.  And I will.  So please listen to me.”

     There it was again, that honest aura.  It surrounded Iron Fist’s buff figure in a hazy halo similar to the aurora borealis.  Though the normally-rich blue within its medley of browns and greens fluctuated like she had never seen before.  What did that mean?

     “The false ID was never meant for long-term use,” he said.  The blue dimmed then returned.  “Of course it would be brought to Fury’s attention.  We just hoped it wouldn’t have been so soon.”

     “What’s he going to do with me now that he knows?”  Zeelan’s words trembled without consent, like her hands.  “And what about you?”

     “Believe it or not, when he talked to me about it several hours ago, he was surprisingly accepting.  It seemed between Spider-Man and I, we had finally convinced Fury to listen to your account of Illinois.”

     A sudden, deep pang ran through the mutant’s chest.  “O—oh?”

     “Yes, but he won’t listen now.  Not unless you prove yourself.  He says if you have nothing to hide, if you’re innocent, you’ll trust us.  Help us.  I don’t exactly agree, but if you have any hunches about where your brother might be—”

      “Even if I _did_ know, I wouldn’t hand my family over to SHIELD on a silver platter,” the mutant spat under her breath.

     “And _I_ feel likewise,” the hero countered.  His brown aura began to fade now, replaced by a red-orange glow that emphasized his deep frown.  “Last night, Spider-Man and Nova were on a mission to guard a blood bank.  They were assaulted by your brother and a bird-like mutant.”

     “Kai.”

     Iron Fist nodded.  “He believes you were taken in your quest to throw off us and The Trackers.”

     “And”—Zeelan paused stiffly—“what did they tell them?”

     “Nothing.”

     Simple, yet not at all what she was expecting.  The young woman stared ahead, blank.  They didn’t inform K that she lied?  They didn’t hold her for ransom?  Or throw her under the bus?  Why not?

     “Spider-Man sent a distress signal soon after calling for backup,” continued Iron Fist.  “When I arrived with White Tiger and Power Man, we found him unconscious.  He woke up not long ago and informed us that the duo had teleported away with Nova, demanding you in his place.”

     “And Fury wants me to concede instead of him complying.”

     “He’s calling your brother a SHIELD terrorist.”

     “My brother is no terrorist!”  A sudden, large bubble grew beside Zeelan then popped loudly like a tire on the interstate.  “SHEILD is the terrorist!  _They_ want to tag and catalogue mutants like cattle, then call on them when their powers are needed.”

     “Remember, focus is best achieved through cleansing breaths,” the hero remarked, smooth.  His soft expression may have brought heat to her blood, but the young woman managed a few, half-hearted breaths that eased new bubbles into submission.  “SHIELD’s intent is well-meaning, even when their methods are questionable.  I admit that.  However, Fury makes a point.  If you have a chance to prove your sincerity, you should.”

     “You say that because you’re with SHIELD,” Zeelan grumbled.

     “I am saying that because a member of my _family_ was kidnapped!”

     Suddenly, the aura’s blue began flickering, expanding then shrinking all while tainted by black.  Fear.  It had to be fear.  Maybe dread.  Or distress.  Either way, the activity worsened, even when the blonde reigned in his glare.

     “I’m sorry about Nova,” Zeelan said after pushing herself away from the cell’s corner.  “Really, I am.  But I—I can’t…I can’t do that to them.”

     “And Nova?” Iron Fist countered in a heavy tone.

     “Listen.  Whatever Fury thinks, he’s wrong.  My brother won’t hurt him, Da—Iron Fist.  He’s a protector.”

     “A protector of his kind.  Like Magneto.  He scolded you for saving two lives already because you exposed yourself.  And ignored a diplomatic way to approach us.  Who’s to say what he will do to a SHIELD hostage?”

     “Nothing.  He’ll do _nothing_.”

     “I have an injured friend in critical who would say otherwise.”

     “That’s the most he’ll do!”  Rising like her voice, the mutant stumbled forward until she reached the glass wall.  There, her weak form sunk to the cold floor, stinging eyes set on Iron Fist’s stern gaze above.  “I know Fury wants you to convince me of giving in,” she croaked weakly.  “But you must understand.  He’s played a big part in how K’s been acting.  I _can’t_ trust him.”

     “Then who will you trust?  Yourself?”  Iron Fist also sunk to the ground, only with far more grace than Zeelan.  When he sat cross-legged, removing his yellow bandana-mask, he regarded the mutant with penetrative green eyes.  “I’m afraid neither of us are in a good position, Zeelan.  Yet you trust that I wish to help you…right?”

     Slowly, Zeelan’s head nodded.

     “What did we speak about two nights ago?”

     The mutant blinked.  “Uh…so—something about strength in belief?”  Really, the memories were foggy from insomnia and hunger, but the blonde confirmed her answer with a curt nod.

     “Believing is an essential part to persevering, overcoming, and even achieving personal goals.  One can gain such strength both from within and from others.  A mix of the two is the most potent, like the nectar of a rare Yu Shi flower.”

     “Yu Shi flower?”

     “It is a flower that grows on the banks of select streams in K’un-Lun, my home.  Used for medicine, it is highly coveted yet also sacred and delicate.  I’ve only tasted it once in my life, when a great sickness nearly killed me.”

     “I—It’s healing factor is that strong?”

     Slowly, a light smile lifted the corners of Iron Fist’s lips.  “The flower does not heal the body.  It heals the mind, strengthens your psyche.”

     “You don’t mean to tell me you healed yourself just by—”  The ridiculous word wouldn’t pass her chapped lips.  “That’s impossible.”

     “Nothing’s impossible,” retorted the blonde.  He actually sounded amused, if somewhat solemn.  “Expand your mind then you would come to realize this truth as well. After all, you can create Psionic force-fields, see auras.  There are those out there who would deem _that_ impossible.”

     “Th—that’s—”

     “No different.  Magic, demons, aliens, the undead, other worlds—they all coexist with science.  And with a power like yours, you are bound to witness such first-hand.”

     “Witness the undead?  I’d rather not.”  Though she meant that seriously, Zeelan joined Iron Fist in his chuckle until reality set in again.  Then, she frowned at the weight on her chest.  “Maybe belief works for you, Iron Fist, but I grew up in a—belief got me nowhere, simple as that. I had one constant rock in those times and it was my brother.  My protector.  He’s taken scars for me _and_ others, which means I know he won’t hurt Nova.  Not in the way Fury assumes.”

     Iron Fist stared.  It was a rather unnerving action; given that it made Zeelan feel like a grade-school kid that was being studied by a too-familiar principle.  Reluctantly, she searched the hero’s aura for a clue to his intents.  The blue in it had cleared, steadied.  Within it, a trace of yellow flickered only for a moment before the blue overpowered it completely.  Alright.  What did yellow mean?

     “If that is what you believe then I will believe it as well,” said Iron Fist in a respect that brought the mutant’s attention back to him.

     “Really?” she asked breathlessly.

     “Sometimes, for one to believe, they must first be believed in.”

     “You’re trying to say something about me, aren’t you?”

     He smiled.  “We need one another’s help to keep our families safe.  So, I ask that you don’t think of me as SHIELD, but as Daniel Rand, Iron Fist. Someone who is willing to help you regain your freedom.”  The hero’s head bowed, arms raised like some warrior in a foreign film, and Zeelan could only stare in amazement.  That is, until his green eyes met hers again.

     “U—uh, yes,” she sputtered through shaky lips, “and I appreciate that.”

     “We can find a way that both sides win; I’m sure of it,” he added.

     “I…I would like that very much, Iron Fist,” Zeelan replied, soft.

     “Please, call me Danny.”

     Why did her stomach lurch at his responding grin?  And the slight cock of his head?  Was she blushing?  She was, wasn’t she?  Dammit.  Screwing her eyes shut, the mutant shook her head until white blotted her vision.  Afterwards, she focused purely on returning his grin without looking too awkward.

     “Okay, Danny”—his name sounded rigid on her tongue—“you can call me Z.”

     “It would be my pleasure…Z.”

### ━❖━

     Trickster’s world was upside-down.  Yes, he meant that as a literal fact.  His long legs bent around a high, rusty rafter that probably wasn’t meant to be climbed and watched the two sibling’s below like a nerdy kid with an ant farm.  If he had popcorn, he sure as hell would’ve already popped it over Smokescreen’s hothead and munched on it as Six Arms’ yells threatened the integrity of the warehouse they had chosen as cover from a heavy storm.  Outside, the wind whipped, thunder boomed, and rain pelted against the tin roof and broken windows.

     “You’re always blaming me!” Six Arms cried with a sneer.

Smokescreen mirrored his expression, save with more pleasant features.  “All you had to do was just _walk away_.  That’s all you ever have to do.  But it’s just too much for you,      isn’t it?”

     “It isn’t my fault this city’s filled with idiots!”

     “Is that supposed to be self-justification?  Because it sounds lame.”

     “Why can’t you just drop things then?  It was only a little fight.”

     “Why?”  Even from his height, Trickster could feel the heat of Smokescreen’s rage.  “I’ll tell you why, Flint.  Because you keep jeopardizing our mission everywhere we go!  You _know_ what’ll happen to her if _he_ has to be sent instead.  Don’t you care?”

     Ah, him.  Trickster was one with a high tolerance for many folks.  ‘He’ was not one of them.

     Six Arms stepped back at the mere mention of their employer’s favored Tracker then grew stern, as if his own actions had offended him.  “Of course I care, Ash.  I’m just…growing tired of this shit.”

     “Me too,” the young woman countered.  “But since we have no choice, we have to step things up.  We can’t keep losing Weir’s group.”

     “And what about SHIELD’s team?  Spider-Man’s group.”

     “Oh, I quite like them,” Trickster finally added.  His snigger echoed, though neither Caulfield graced him with a look.  What jerks!

     “We did it your way once,” Smokescreen said darkly.  “And it failed.  We need to save time.  But if meet them again…I have a means to keep them out of our way.”

     “Oh?”

     Boy, did Trickster love the grim smirk that worked its way across the young woman’s pale face.  “Yeah, I’ve gotten a little…present.”


	11. Wake-Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam wakes up in Kevin's charge. Meanwhile, Danny speaks with Zeelan in her cell.

_ _

* * *

 

_Hey…_

What was that horrendous noise?

_Wake up…_

It sounded like an eighty-year-old smoker that just ran a triathlon.

_Wake up…_

Did he hit the pavement after that blast?  He must have.  And now he’s just been found by a raunchy-smelling night worker, hasn’t he?  Where the hell was Parker?

_I said, wake up!_

Sam’s eyes shot open quicker than they ever had before.  And the jolt through his aching limbs animated him in strange ways that left him growling.  Through the sting, he leveled his pounding head so the two blurred figures ahead felt every ounce of his displeasure.

“The hell is wrong with you?” asked the Hispanic with a snarl.  His words were slurred, though.  And hoarse.  Very annoying.

“We gave you plenty of chances to wake,” one figure hissed while Sam coughed.  Yeah, he was the one that had spoken in the hero’s semi-conscious state; the stench gave it away.  “I’m done being nice.”

“Dude,”—Sam wheezed—“have you ever heard of a breath mint?  Or a shower?  Le Sewer isn’t exactly a lady-attractor.”

“Unfortunately, those are luxuries we don’t have.  Thanks to your _director_.”

Such malice at one little word.  Sam scoffed then blinked to focus his vision a bit more.  Slowly, the blurs of peach, yellow, gray, magenta, and teal melded into place—until his whereabouts grew as clear as its stench. 

An old butcher room.  Really?  Of all the clichés available, they picked this?  Disgusting.  Traces of petrified meat still clung to the dingy, cement floor and the yellowed-walls looked like their last cleaning came over a decade ago.  The faint buzzing of flies drifted about, though the temperature felt too cool for them to be active.  And of course Sam hung from one of the many high poles, numb arms chained above his head as his feet barely touched the ground.

That could be a good thing, however, since his feet were apparently bare.  Wait.  The hero wiggled his toes, legs, shoulders, and then fingers.  They felt light.  ‘ _Oh, shit._ ’

“Looking for something?”

Sam’s glare darkened tenfold simply watching the buff blonde—Kevin Weir--run a finger across the smooth red-star on his Nova helmet.  “Hey, lay off the paint-job, Weir!”

Kevin turned to him, unfazed.  “We removed it just to see your face.  Interesting how your uniform changed as well.  I take it you aren’t much without it…are you?”

“Otherwise he would have escaped by now,” injected a new, smoother voice with a twin accent.  It sounded strangely friendly, yet its Asian owner’s sneer emanated anything but kindness.

“You”—Sam studied the feather-clad mutant a moment longer—“you’re the one who was fighting Spider-Man.”

“Until I was called to ground you, yes.”

“Where is he?”

“Left to deliver a message,” Kevin answered monotonously.  The young man rubbed the Nova helmet again in a way that caused Sam’s blood to boil and then he worked his way towards his prisoner in calm steps.  “He’s going to give Fury the chance to trade you for my sister.”

“Good luck with that,” retorted Sam without thought and a grim tone.

Kevin’s small smirk turned strained.  “Thanks.  It won’t be easy or quick, but I’ll get my sister back.”

“SHIELD isn’t the kind to give into demands.”

“They’re the kind that makes them.  Believe me; I know.”

“Do you?”

The blonde laughed.  Actually laughed.  It was a bitter action, short.  And Sam regarded him with narrowed eyes when he smiled.

“Working directly under Fury, yet you still know so little.”

“What’s there to know?” retorted the Hispanic, a light smirk on his lips.  “Your town went bonkers.  You didn’t want Fury’s help.  Your sister killed an agent.  Now he’s upset.”

Thwack!  Sam’s cheek stung after a powerful force met it.  The metallic taste of blood poured across his tensed tongue, which he used to corral the substance into a clean spit.  The Hispanic grimaced at the red splatter now by his feet, running his tongue over the long cut inside his mouth. 

Damn, did he miss his helmet.

“I bet you just blindly listen to Fury, don’t you, dog?” snarled Kevin deeply.  “Where he says there’s bad guys, there must be, because for damn sure he puts Earth’s citizens above all else.”

Sam flashed a weak smile.  “Well, he harps on me about their safety all the time.  So.”

“You think humor is what’s going to get you through this?”

“No; that’s Spider-Man’s shtick.”

Yes, the tables were turning.  Sam was ready to round up a haughty smirk, even, especially when his blonde captor joined the bird mutant several steps away.  The two exchanged a look, only their attention returned to the Hispanic not with annoyance or hatred.  Rather, weariness overcame them like a rain cloud cast by years of distress, and Kevin’s head shook as if disappointed in a child.

“What?” Sam asked tartly.

“Nothing”—Kevin sounded sincere—“I know your kind.  You don’t understand, you just roll with what comes…”

_Sometimes the wisest thing to do is to understand before acting.”_

Why did Danny’s words suddenly fill Sam’s mind?  Fortune Cookie was just over-reacting; Sam understood plenty!  At least when it came to the things that mattered.  So how could his stomach possibly have sunk in slight pity when Kevin’s steely blue eyes glanced over him?

“Two days,” Kevin started, listless yet also quite dangerous.  “Fury has two days for some kind of response.  If there are none, you stay here.  If by day three there’s still no activity, I’ll go to my second plan.”

“And, uh, what is that exactly?” Sam questioned through words uncertain.

“I get _you_ to spill SHIELD’s secrets.”

The pity vanished.  Though the statement had been whispered, it held more weight than an elephant.  Especially when Kevin’s electricity danced over him as well the Nova helmet he attempted to crush between his strong grip.  The words loomed over the vacant room even while some final echoes of Kevin’s boots and bird-man’s talons diminished. 

Sam was left breathless as the door slammed shut behind them and his gaze fell to his own blood.

### ━❖━

Danny’s mind was swimming.  Sure, he remained composed on the outside.  But on the inside, he fiercely attempted to keep from drowning in dread and screaming in frustration.  If he were the kind to incorporate excuses into reasoning, he would say a great deal of his troubles stemmed from a lack of sleep.  He knew, though, that insomnia had not been the cause.  The cause ran deeper than that, prodding at his heart like a small barb set so deep in his chest that he sometimes had trouble breathing.

Doubt.  Depression.  Such emotions had been felt before—in a time Danny had long-since pushed out of mind.  They awoke fragments of memories.  Snarls.  Coldness.  Screams.  Blood.  All of which seized him in ways he no longer thought possible.  Yet they did.  He sat, fully aware of how heavy his body felt, and vaguely registered someone’s voice.

“Danny?  …Danny.  Hey…wake up!”

Danny jumped—not because he had been touched physically, but because a loud ‘pop’ startled him out of his reverie.  Mouth agape, the blonde met Zeelan’s wide eyes beyond the glass wall between them.  He gripped tight to the crumpled bandana-mask in his hands, and, for a moment, reeled at the irises that resembled polished coal.  He watched himself blink in their reflection then sucked in a deep breath through his nose.

“Forgive me, Z,” he said rigidly, “I was lost in thought.”

“Obviously,” replied Zeelan in her rich Midwestern accent.  She sat back on her bare feet.  “You, uh, were answering a question for me.”

He was?  His face must have blanked because the mutant’s semi-tan features saddened.

“You were telling me how Spider-Man’s doing,” she continued softly.

Danny nodded.  “Right.  Sorry.  He’s doing well.  His fight with Kai left him with minor wounds, but the damage Kevin inflicted on his nervous system”—the blonde noted grimly that Z’s eyes grew glossy—“he fell a long way to escape.  In a way, that was wise.  Any longer and your brother could have done permanent damage.”

“He just…he thinks he’s protecting the others.  That’s all.”  The mutant’s small voice was filled with desperation and sorrow.  And the hero spared her a warm smile of encouragement.

“While I can’t say I’m fine with what Kevin has done to Spider-Man,” he started.  “I believe you’re right.  Don’t worry, though.  Spider-Man’s enhanced healing means he’ll be confined to a bed for only three days—not the recommended two months a normal human would have to endure.”

“Just three days?”

“Yes.  Keeping him stationary has proven a near-impossible feat; however, the right people on watch have ensured he hasn’t been in the field prematurely.  For now.”

“That’s…good.  Uh…m—my brother interrupted his and Nova’s mission, right?”

Danny eyed the mutant that rubbed her bare arm, saying simply, “Yes.”

“What kind was it?”

His first instinct was to ask why, yet he bit down the urge and instead strengthened his lotus position.  “A simple guard mission for a blood bank.  A pick-up was supposed to take place, which would transfer vital blood from the bank into a carrier’s hands that would then transfer it across the globe.”

Blinking, Z furrowed her white brows.  “The blood couldn’t just be shipped?”

“Too valuable to risk loss or contamination.”

“But with people like SHIELD to back it up, I’m sure something could have been worked out.”

“It had been.  Through the carrier.”

“Was the carrier an agent?”

“No.”

“That sounds unreasonable.  You would think SHIELD would use you as carriers in that case.”

“You’re a very rational person. Z,” remarked Danny with a light laugh.

A blush quickly darkened Z’s grimace.  “S—sorry.  Tangent.  How, uh, how important was the blood?”

“Very,” the hero answered—laughter now dead.  “The place may not look like much, but it’s a cover.  The labs there deal with…special blood.  The package was going to save a young boy’s life.’

“…Was?”

“Unfortunately, during the fight, the blood was targeted.  There were hints it would be, and that’s why SHIELD’s help was called for.  The thief took the blood and its sister samples under their noses, before the carrier even arrived.  There aren’t any more to be sent.  The boy…”  No, he couldn’t finish the sentence; the very words weighed his mouth shut.

“So”—Z spoke with pursed lips and a hushed tone—“my brother’s interference cost someone their life?”

“Inadvertently…yes.”  The mutant sighed under Danny’s even stare, but the blonde managed to regain her gaze with a raised finger.  “Feel no guilt, Zeelan; you hold no account in this failure.”

“Oh, I don’t feel guilty,” answered Z frankly.  She paused in an instant then shook her head.  “Uh, there I go being insensitive again.”

“Honesty and insensitivity often go hand-in-hand; however”—Danny smiled—“they are tempered by sincerity.  Your sincere heart should not chastise itself.”

A loss of words.  That’s how he could describe Zeelan’s’s expression.  It seemed strange she would be taken so aback by such a simple statement.  Only after a long moment of silence did the blonde wave his hand before the glass until Z’s trance broke.

“If that’s the case then,” she begun in a lighter tone, “I must say you’re a weird one, Danny.  But…that works for me.  At least you don’t get offended or annoyed like…well, almost everyone at home.”

“At times, people prefer a sweet illusion to the truth, for its lure is less painful.”

“Oh, tell me about it.  Save for Thera and Dassie, I was basically ignored by the girls in school because I run on facts.  It’s just how I am.  Guess my personality was too abrasive for the romantics…”

“Reality has its means of shattering even the strongest of fanciful expectations.  You’re fortunate in that you don’t have to endure the numerous heartaches of broken illusions.”

“U—U—uh”—Zeelan’s eyes quickly averted as she mumbled through her accent—“well, thanks.”  A dark red may have fanned across her freckles.  Danny couldn’t be sure since her head ducked and her shoulders hunched, pushing thick locks of her frayed, curly hair into her vision.  “A—anyways.  My original thought.  Again.  I—I don’t feel guilty about the mission.  I mean, I feel bad for the boy.  I do.  But, more so…for the general situation.  Between everyone.  It seems like no matter how many good choices we try to make, they blow up in our faces.”

“The path to success is paved with failure,” noted Danny over the human’s huff.

“So is the path to failure,” she grumbled.

“The only failure is when one gives up.”

“And you’ll round this back to your belief lesson.”

“Yes.  As I have said, any goal can be achieved through belief.  Goals only fail when you decide they fail.”

“Some goals are just too big to achieve.”

“They may be challenging, but not impossible.”

“Sorry, Danny.  Can’t say I agree with that.”

“Yet.”

With a startled jolt of her head, Zeelan glanced up.  Light reflections on the glass hit in such a way that half her face was hidden.  Still, the hero could detect a small smile.

“You think you can convert me?” she asked in a challenging tone Danny knew well from living with friends.

“Yes, I do,” he answered simply.  “After all, I have convinced you that you can be free of solitary, right?”

“Speaking of which”—the mutant straightened—“you never did explain how you convinced Fury you should speak with me.  You know, after I didn’t cave yesterday.”

“Oh…about that.”

Zeelan grimaced.  “You snuck in again.”

Danny gave a strained grin.  “Well, he was sleep—“

“ _Rand_!”

“And now he’s not."


	12. Sore

** **

* * *

 

 

     Relax, Zeelan, relax.  It’s fine.  Fury had only whisked Danny away several hours ago.  Okay.  Maybe it had been a whole day.  Still, he would survive the Director’s wrath.  …Right?

     Come to think of it, why did the question even pose in her mind?  Danny was SHIELD.  He worked for them.  Followed them.  Like Kevin had said, anyone with ties to such an organization shouldn’t be trusted.  She should be shunning him or expecting a backstabbing revelation.

     Yet she wasn’t. 

     He and his team felt different—especially Spider-Man and Danny. She could recall all their auras from memory.  Like Danny’s green and brown dance and Spider-Man’s whirl of orange and yellow with hints of green and pink.  The one called Power Man also had a big heart with a worry in his teal-brown halo that Z couldn’t dissect.  White Tiger cared, but the rigid veins of black creeping amongst the deep purple and gray surrounding her left her less open than the others. 

     Then, there had been Nova.  Glowing with reds and yellows like a star, he felt the most open and vivid.  Even so, he also harbored the most black of them all.  And it remained constant.

     She should really figure out what black means.  As well as the other colors.  It would make life so much simpler for her, who needs facts to weigh possibilities.  Meanwhile, nothing, save her gut, could guide her through her Radiesthesia.  Her logical mind told her not to trust it; feelings could be misinterpreted.  That lesson had been learned the hard way.  Regardless, what choice did she have?  Not only were they her only leads, they had also begun influencing her.

     ‘ _I’m starting to trust them_ ,’ she thought with a slow shake of her head.  ‘ _Kevin would call it silly…I should call it silly.  But…_ ’

     She grimaced, struck by a thought.  She could guess just what Danny would say about it.  He would call her Radiesthesia an extension of herself.  Probably in a cryptic way.  Then, he would no doubt find a means to convince her not to disregard it.  He would want her to embrace it and maybe immerse herself in it.  All of which went against her very nature.

     ‘ _And Danny would call it a challenge or an obstacle and bring up belief.  Again.  He’s fairly stubborn, but at least he’s consistent.  I don’t like controversies so much.  And it doesn’t really bother me much when he brings up similar points multiple times.  At least he spices them with metaphors and similes.  Strange ones, yeah.  But he keeps things interes—wait, mind…why are we dwelling on him?_ ’

     Zeelan’s second head shake was more violent and felt hotter.  No.  She didn’t want her thoughts to drift that far.  She only wanted to assure herself Fury wouldn’t imprison Danny for visiting her.  That goal would run smoother if she had some kind of sign.  An alert.  A visit.  An announcement over the PA system that Fury had used to force Danny from solitary.  Anything!

     Creak.  Alright.  An open door worked.  Zeelan stood as tall as she could, given her weakened state, and kept force-fields at bay.  No one bothered to taint the glass wall after Danny’s last visit, so her cool vision was set beyond it, at the flash of green and yellow that entered. 

     Iron Fist.  He didn’t bother with a mask—not over his pale face or in his clenched hands.  He regarded Zeelan with solemn green eyes that sunk her stomach and forced an invisible weight on her shoulders.  The fractions of black around him were too numerous to ignore, too certain to mean anything good.  And the mutant found meeting his gaze again a hard task.

     “Z,” Danny started, voice as tired as he looked, “I’m sorry.”

     “Oh, th—that’s never a good way to start a conversation,” remarked Zeelan timidly.

     “Truly.”

     “You were gone a long time.”

     “I was.”

     Silent, Z questioned with her prickling eyes, and Danny’s chest rose with air.

     “The verdict leaves something to be desired,” he said.  “Fury talked with me first then the whole team.”

     “Even Spider-Man?

     “Yes.  He had slipped from bed, much to his watchers’ displeasure.  He’s now back to resting.”

     “That’s good.  And what”—the mutant gulped—“did Fury say?”

     “You’re a perceptive young woman, Z; I’m sure you already know…”

     Yeah, but that didn’t mean she wanted to acknowledge it.  “Is—is he going to kill me?”

     At her whisper Danny’s form grew stiff, the black of his aura darkening.  “Executions aren’t Fury’s style.  However…he is prepared to use it as leverage against your brother.”

     “I figured.”  And that sealed it: Zeelan’s shaking body met the floor, hard.  The prickling of her eyes grew, but she held back the tears.  Barely.  “Fury and K are the two most stubborn people I have ever known.  This could very well—I…I mean, I could—”

     “My team won’t allow _that_ ,” injected Danny with heated words.  Somehow, his assured tone eased Z’s panic before she hyperventilated.  “It isn’t often Fury’s heart conflicts with his head, but recently, that seems to be his trouble.  He just won’t fully explain why.”

     “Naturally,” Z grumbled.

     Danny stared down at her frown.  “Zeelan…the truth has been avoided for too long.  It’s been a week.  I’ve done my best to understand you.  Still, like a raging river, you make it impossible to see through your troubles.”

     “Does a river have troubles?”

     “ _Zeelan_.”

     The mutant met the hero’s stern stare for a moment then glanced away.

     “I haven’t told you”—Danny added—“but…Fury mentioned Illinois.”

     No.  Please, say he didn’t.  Another glance at Danny proved it, though.  He did.  A sense of lightheadedness washed over Zeelan then, forcing her to tuck her face between her pulled-up knees.  She smelled horrid, which enhanced her nausea; however, facing Danny would have surely pushed her over the edge.

     “That supposed incident has been my team’s leverage against Fury,” the blonde continued, even.  “We convinced him that he hadn’t heard your side of the tale yet.  It’s injustice to accuse you without giving you a chance to defend yourself.  Up until your brother kidnapped Nova…we even had him convinced.”

     “And now…”

     “He still wants a full account.  He wants your testimony, but he isn’t willing to release you, regardless of its content.”

     “So why would I speak at all if it makes no difference?”

     “For me.”

     Zeelan froze—eyes wide as they stared at her too-thin stomach.

     “Please,” Danny said warmly, “don’t tell Fury.  Tell me.”

     Better judgment warned her against lifting her head.  She did so anyway.  The blue in Danny’s aura broke through most of the black, splintering it with its brilliance.  Yes, a gut feeling told her he really wanted to know.  And it could be good for someone to know the truth, she reasoned.  Danny, at least, would believe her.  Or should.  She hoped.

     “It’s like one giant sore, but fine,” she conceded, grim. She about grinned at the light that twinkled in the hero’s eyes.  “What’s Fury’s account of Topeka?”

     “Simply put: that you had killed an agent while a SHIELD team was tracking you for aid.”

     “ _Aid_?” drawled Z confoundedly.  “He called it _aid_?  He wasn’t aiding us.  He was hunting us for recruitment.  Like you guys.”

     “For a team?”

     “Not sure about a team.  I only know for sure he wanted Kevin, who had never liked the idea.”

     “Just how bad is the blood between your brother and Fury?”  Brows furrowed, Danny sat in the lotus position.  Zeelan was starting to feel that was a natural instinct for him.

     “Has Fury told you how long they’ve known one another?”

     The hero stared back blankly.

     “Of course.  The answer is ‘very bad’.  Fury had been coming around our home for a long time.  At least twice a year.  Each visit, he would try to convince K to join SHIELD because his powers are…substantial.”

     “And your brother denied him every time.”

     Z nodded.  “K didn’t have time or a desire, even at age twelve.  By that point he was already leery of most humans.  Fury just ticked him off, but the Director wouldn’t stop showing up.”

     “Fury must’ve had high hopes for Kevin then,” mumbled Danny.

     “For years, he said he saw something in K.  That didn’t matter, though.  K grew more resentful of Fury because of the pressure the visits put on my family…”

     “Yes.  You described Kevin as a protector, a rock, before.  Why?”

     “He was—is.”  The mutant sighed lightly.  “My mother was always…extreme.  Eccentric, quick to judge, resilient—the whole package.  She very clearly let others know she saw danger in mutants.  She was…scared of them.  Thought them monsters…

     “My earliest memories of her consist of rants, arguments with my father, and”—she flinched—“episodes when either K or I would defend mutants.”

     “Did she ever know her children were mutants?” Danny questioned, soft.

     An image flashed in Zeelan’s mind—one of a tanned beauty with one too many coats of hair spray over her dark, curly locks and a disgusted glare that could end the ages.  She could still smell the nauseating scent of cigarette smoke and kerosene; hear the rebukes that cut like razors through the soul.

     “Sh—she did,” the mutant managed through broken whispers.  “Thanks to Fury.  She didn’t let on while he was in Enderlin, but once he left…”

     “She confronted you?”

     “Me?  Oh, no.  Not me.  I didn’t have my powers then.”

     “You didn’t?”

     “No.  Only my hair had lightened from strawberry blonde to white during Middle School.  K’s another matter, though.  I remember him always having his abilities.  They didn’t manifest in puberty like a lot of other kids with the X-Gene.  He was eight, I think, which is why he’s so skilled with them now.  He knew better than to tell our parents, but trusted me with the secret.  So I thought it…natural.”

     “What did your mother do when she found out?”

     Here, Z couldn’t control her wince.  “A—as a kid, I didn’t understand how my mother could talk about mutants so badly.  My wonderful big brother, who promised to always protect me, was a mutant.  So I stood up for their kind.  My mother…didn’t like that in the least.”

     “She beat you.”  Danny spoke so frankly and assuredly that Z’s head rose.  A glimmer of red pulsed around him, shoving the green aside until Z nodded.  Then, red overcame the green completely as the blonde narrowed his eyes.

     “Just until we took back what we said,” replied Zeelan, finding the red uneasy.  “Over the years we learned to watch our words around her.  Still, sometimes we would slip.  Mainly, I would slip.  And K would cover for me.  That’s how it went for years.  I began relying on my logic to keep from speaking ‘out of term’ while mother...”

     The mutant huffed in a sardonic manner.  “You don’t notice the signs much when you’re a child.  I didn’t see just how sick my mother was until the end.  But looking back on it, the tells were glaring.  Papa knew.  He tried to help her.  All to no avail.  And in the end she was shipped off to a ward for the criminally insane.”

     The red pulsed with a wave of black.  “Criminally?”

     “Yeah,” Z answered—a dark and lifeless action.  “It was five years ago.  After Fury’s last known visit.  We, uh, overheard mother talking with Papa.  She had seen K use his abilities on Fury to answer him ‘no’, and she”—her throat closed, causing Z to croak—“she broke.  Papa tried to calm her down, but she wouldn’t listen.  She was irate, screaming so late at night.  She said she would kill K.  She said she would, and my eleven-year-old self believed her.  Then she told Papa if I was a mutant too, she would also kill me.

     “K stood up at that.  He’s the kind that can take threats against himself, not others.  He revealed himself to her and she…doused him in kerosene from the fireplace.  Then tried to light him on fire.  After stabbing my father for protecting me and breaking K’s leg.”

     Telling the story was painful enough without recounts blurring her vision.  Her mother had gotten the upper hand on her young brother.  Quick.  Probably because, at that point, K wanted to be accepted by her.  It was his one hope and weakness.  He never voiced it, but a sister could tell.  What that woman did to him had dashed his hope, his belief in others.  And ever since then he’d grown more cynical than Z naturally was.

     “And y—your father?”  Danny’s tone wavered.  “Is he—“

     “He lived,” Zeelan interrupted.  She raised a hand to her temple to soothe an oncoming headache only to realize she had been crying.  The great moisture over her cheeks and down her chin wasn’t a concern, however.  She left her heated face as was and tended to the ache in her skull instead.

     “I am sorry about your mother.”  Such soft words.  They were accompanied by the return of green in Danny’s aura, as well as the displacement of red.  The blue grew brighter, though black lingered, and part of Z swore the blonde would shed a few tears.  “I understand what it means to lose a mother,” he whispered.  “The circumstances are radically different, but still the same.  Mine was killed.  Yours…in a way has been as well.”

     “I think she had died long ago,” Z grumbled.  “I’m sure your mother was…far better.  She must have been to raise you.”

     “Actually, I was only raised in part by her.  A great deal of my development, honestly, is thanks to the monks of K’un-Lun.  I was lost before them.”

     “Oh?”  Z’s lips quirked into a little smile she couldn’t fight.  “Well…I’m glad you were found then.  Still, I—I’m sorry about your mom as well.”

     “I humbly accept your condolence.”

     “Uh, likewise?”  The duo chuckled softly, though Z forced a stony expression on her face when the short urge passed.  “Now you can see what trouble Fury has brought us,” she continued, stern.  “Maybe it would have only been a matter of time before our mother found out.  But Fury kept provoking K.  We had plans to move out together when he turned legal, keep her from ever knowing.  We wanted to…convince her mutants could be good guys.  K blames Fury for changing that.”     

     “That’s why he wouldn’t accept SHIELD’s help.  And is leading your group cross-country.”

     “Kai’s had a few dealings with Fury before as well, so it wasn’t hard for him and K to convince the others we were alone after the—the Enderlin Uprising.”

     “And when SHIELD caught up to you—”

     “Oh, they weren’t as innocent as they report,” snapped Zeelan.  Pop.  Pop.  Two force-fields gave way to five.  The mutant waved them away, yet didn’t bother controlling them.  “It was an accident.  I didn’t even have my powers until the uprising started!  They were threatening Trent.  I was just…protecting him.”

     “Are you saying…you _did_ kill her?”

     “I…”  She couldn’t bring herself to keep eye contact.

     “Fury tells us that Agent Reyes, whom you”—Danny paused—“killed, was loyal and good.”

     “She was,” Z croaked with new tears.  “She tried to help Trent.  Me.  She tried to be the mediator.”

     “Then…”

     “It was the _others_.  They were tired of chasing us, and willing to take us by force.  When their weapons went missing, they immediately blamed us.  But we _didn’t_ take them.  We were set-up.”

     “Who would do that?”

     “Oh, I don’t know.”  Danny couldn’t hide his uncertainly from Z’s senses, so she sought a solid, convincing stare.  “Someone.  Look.  I didn’t see him, but the others did.  Said something about him wearing a full-red costume and swords on his back.  He talked like a maniac, claimed the weapons were easy pickings before boasting to the group that they were lucky to be his scapegoats…Danny?  Danny, do you _know_ him?”

     All uncertainly fled Danny’s aura after he blinked.  “I have a pretty good idea.  That’s a topic for another time, though.  Tell me, how did Agent Reyes die?”

     “An accident.”  The blonde’s stare pushed further.  “I—I freaked out, okay?  My powers are still new.  Trent was scared.  And those agents had already hurt him.  I didn’t want them any closer to us.  Miss Reyes, she said her name was Monica.  She was trying to calm me when another agent went after Trent.  I…I tried blocking him, but wound up crushing her…”

     “The agents reported that you threatened their lives.”

     Z’s eye narrowed.  “Jackasses.  _They’re_ the ones who threatened us.”

     “That explains why they lied on the report.  Well…not fully.”

     “I know.  It…It was an accident.  A—are you going to tell Fury all of this?”

     “Fury already knows,” a deep, unwelcomed voice answered.

     Surges of dread seized Zeelan’s body as she glanced over Danny’s shoulder to the black-clad SHIELD Director that approached with loud steps.  He disregarded the blonde’s mild attempt to keep him three feet from the glass barrier, and a large pit in the mutant’s gut wished her friend had succeeded.  Fury’s aura read complete ambiguity, which left Z speechless under its weight.

     “Zeelan Ishbel Weir,” he addressed, calm, “prepare to be moved.”


	13. Hope

* * *

 

Aches.  Stings.  Burning.  Pain, in general—the kind that couldn’t be ignored and unfortunately the kind that didn’t turn numb.  Sam could barely keep his eyes open through it all.  Hanging by thick chains from the ceiling inches above the ground was one thing.  Trying to escape those confines for days and earning a fractured wrist was one thing.  Enduring all that on top of Kevin Weir’s interrogative tactics was another thing entirely.  Like, Fury’s training room set on max level hard.

Kevin had stayed true to his word.  By day three, Fury still hadn’t responded.  Or, if he had, it went unnoticed.  So when yesterday came, the teleporter set his sights on Sam.  Of course, Sam only responded in snappy remarks.  Which, admittedly, resulted in more intense shocks and punches.  He couldn’t think of any other way to survive them, though.  Sarcasm was a shield.  If he let go of that…he just might cave.

‘ _I have to be careful,_ ’ the Hispanic thought while blinking his one eye that wasn’t swollen shut.  It stung.  ‘ _I know myself.  I let things slip.  I can’t…do that…to my team…_ ’

Yet he must help himself as well.  Yes, his team could be trusted to track him down, even with his communicator destroyed.  In spite of that, he couldn’t sit and wait for a rescue squad; it wasn’t in his blood.  He needed a plan, a way out.  There had to be something he could do. 

If only he had his Nova helmet…

Sam’s nose scrunched.  ‘ _Ugh, what is that stench?  It’s almost as bad as a dead Ul'lula'n._   _Wait._ ’  The Hispanic turned towards the left the best he could.  With his stretched shoulders dug into the sides of his face, he could hardly see anything not ahead of him.  Yet his good eye caught a glimpse of brown and blue as the ‘cell’ door softly closed.  ‘ _Oh, it’s her…_ ’

“Hey,” Sam said hoarsely.  Man, did his throat burn.  “What cha got?”

The slender figure halted her travels, clenching a wrapped package towards her small chest.  She didn’t reply and pulled the large hood of her brown sweater further over her head, as if shading her face was of the upmost importance.  Her cloth-covered feet padded against the floor quietly until she stood before Sam.  Still silent, she slowly unwrapped the package to reveal a partial loaf of Italian bread.

The Hispanic stared—mainly at the amount of fuzzy mold over the bread’s top.  “Gee…thanks?”

Silent as a mime, the female awkwardly pulled off the mold with her fully-wrapped hands.  Crumbs and fungus mixed with dry and fresh blood splattered around Sam’s heavy feet.  He couldn’t bring himself to watch them for long, so his eye returned to the figure, who offered the bread again.

“Look,” started Sam just above a whisper, “I’ve said it four times before; I’ll say it again.  I _can’t_ eat that.”

The figure huffed then pushed the bread closer towards Sam’s cracked, bloody lips.

“I’m serious,” he added.  “How do I know it isn’t poisoned?  …Outside of its expiration.”  The figure’s hood shook and Sam narrowed his eyes at it.  “What are you doing here anyway?  Shouldn’t you be saving your food for your group?”

She sighed, yet again, silent.  As the bread lowered, a heat in the Hispanic’s blood bubbled.

“Will you _ever_ answer me, dammit?” he cried in a scratchy voice.  “You’ve been sneaking in here ever since I arrived to offer me spoiled food with no reason.  Are you supposed to be the ‘good cop’ to Weir’s ‘bad cop’ or what?  Should I just ask him about you instead?”

“Don’t do that!” the figured suddenly retorted.  Her cloth-hand had stretched out in alarm, so she brought it back, clinging tight to the bread.

Sam sent her a mild smirk, saying, “So you aren’t mute.  What’s your name?”

“M—my name’s Thera, Thera Moore,” she answered with a defeated slump of her shoulders.  Sam admitted her voice sounded kinda cute.

“I take it Weir doesn’t know you visit me, Thera.”

“He…doesn’t.”

“So if you’re caught…?”

In an instant, Thera lifted her head enough where the Hispanic sensed her offended glare.  “He wouldn’t hurt me.  He would just make sure I don’t come back in.  That’s all.”

Sam coolly regarded the pair of orange eyes that stood out amongst the shade, though their resemblance to the Sun intrigued him.  “Still,” he started, tart, “what’s the point?  Why risk getting in trouble?”

“Do you really have to ask that?” Thera questioned, the bright light in her gaze dimming to auburn.  “You’re a super hero.  You help people every day.”

“So you _are_ trying to be the good cop.”

“No.  It’s just that leaving you here to starve isn’t the right thing to do.”

“If you really want to do the right thing then you should let me go.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“So”—Sam’s pained lips pursed after his dry cough—“you’ll bring me food and water, yet will sit back and let Weir beat me?”

“Well, you still took Zeelan,” the hooded-teen countered.  Her grip on the bread tightened, squashing it between her trembling hands.  “And you are SHIELD.”

“What is the big thing you people have against SHIELD?  I mean, yeah, they can be a pill.  But come on.  They were trying to help you after Enderlin.”

“After Enderlin?  Yo—you think we didn’t know of SHIELD until then?”

Sam blinked his good eye for moisture in vain.  “Fury didn’t tell us otherwise.”

“Typical.”  Thera re-wrapped the bread and placed it back into her hoodie’s front pouch before she produced a worn roll of—what looked like—old towels that had been torn into even sections.  She kept quiet a moment as she wetted them with water from a bottle.  Then, she ventured forward to brush one towel over a few deep cuts on Sam’s bicep.  “You sound to me like someone who takes things at face value,” she continued blandly.

“I know what I see,” the Hispanic snapped, hissing at the burn and potent fish scent.

“And in that supposed knowledge, you just took Fury’s word without contemplating that we were running from him for a reason?”

“Of course you were; Zeelan killed his agent.”

“I mean _before_ that!”

The towel slid harshly, causing Sam to cough in his attempt to contain a scream.  He narrowed his eye at Thera, though she countered his hate with a mournful sigh and controlled fear behind her gaze.

“You have no idea what our group has gone through,” the mutant started, soft.  “Enderlin, SHIELD, The Trackers, our families—all of it and everything in between.   You don’t even care to understand, do you?  You just…follow Fury.  You’re on his side, so he must be right.”

The towel moved again, lying across Sam’s second bicep.  It didn’t burn like the other.  In fact, it didn’t even tingle or string.  The coarse fabric and damp coolness couldn’t break past the new numbness that spread through his veins like a surge of adrenaline.  Dizziness soon hit the hero, followed by a slack jaw and some stiffness in his joints that hindered him from speaking.  His heartbeat quickened in his heavy chest once his visions blurred.  So with the last of his strength, he looked for any sign as to what had suddenly befallen him.

In midst of swirling grays and whites, Thera pulled her hood back.  Her face was slurred with oranges, browns, and specks of red that made no sense.  The fish scent grew stronger and when Thera drew the towel back, her wide, orange eyes met his.

“See what you made me do?”

### ━❖━

“A touchdown is worth?”

“Six points.”

“What about a field goal?”

“That’s three.”

“And a safety?”

“Uh…two points?”

“What is a safety, exactly?”

“I thought we were just going over the point system.”

“Surprise test.  Not everything in battle will go according to your expectations.”

“It’s, um, when…uh.”

“Time is also something you have little of in the field.”

“Oh, I know!  I know!  Ah, got it.  It’s when the offensive ball carrier is tackled behind his own goal line.”

“Very good.  Now tell me of a turnover.”

“A…pastry?”

“No.  I spoke of it between explaining a two-point conversion and safeties—the defensive kind.  There are two types.”

“ _Two_?”

“Almost out of time.”

“I was concentrating on the main things you were saying!”

“A fighter must pay attention to all the details.”

“But—!”

“Time’s up.”

“Ugh!”

Luke chuckled good-naturedly, eyes set on Zeelan as she sunk into the plush leather of an opposing couch.  Her sigh went muffled through the Tricarrier’s recreational room thanks to the soft chatter of sports playing on a wide-screen television, and the broad-shouldered teen leaned against his knees in a vain attempt to hear her continued mumbling.

“How many rounds does that make now?” she questioned.

“Zero to four, not in your favor,” Luke answered, frank, while the mutant’s arms crossed.  He caught her disgruntled expression with a kind smile then added, “Hey, you got more this round than the last three.”

“Uff da”—Z sunk further into her seat—“I don’t get why I can’t grasp these rules.  I grew up on books.  I’ve read everything from world battle compilations to fantasy novels.  When I was twelve, I spent days in the law section of the library for fun.”

The hero flashed a look.  “Uh, I think you needed to get out more as a kid.”

“What are you talking about?  I got out plenty.  Did you know it’s illegal to lick toads in California?”

“Your mother _really_ should have pushed you outside.”

With a flinch, Zeelan averted her dark eyes, narrowing them at an empty bowel of peanuts on the glass coffee table between the couches.  “My mother wasn’t the one who cared”—the mutant spoke in a foreign bitterness—“It was my papa who got me into ice skating.”

“Ah, right.”  A slight slap against his thick neck reminded Luke to be more careful with his words.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring her up.  I know she’s—“

“In the past,” finished Z with a forced smile.  “Let’s get back to sports.”

“Is that really what you want to talk about?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you asked me about Football.  But I feel it’s something more than that.”

“Oh, well…”

“Zeelan?”

Zeelan sighed.  “Please, just call me Z; my full name makes me feel like I’m in trouble.”

Luke sent her a nod.  “Got it.  So…?”

“I did ask because I was curious,” the mutant stared as she played with the riveted cuffs of the unzipped black jacket that swallowed her figure.  “I like to familiarize myself with all kinds of tactics.  Yesterday I had a good talk about them with White Tiger.  Today I got you, and you seem to have a great passion for the sport.  I thought it was something I could compare with what you guys do every day.  You know?  Fight criminals?”

“Is that why you suggested I treat the test like you were battling a team?” questioned Luke, one brow raised.

“Oh, it sounds silly, I know.  But it’s just something that I—yeah.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s silly, per say.  But it’s definitely…unique.”

“Well, that’s what mutants are—unique.”  Chuckling weakly, the young woman ran a hand through her wild locks of white hair, down her lavender t-shirt, to the hem of her jean shorts.

As her fingers began twirling the shorts’ fringe, the hero shook his buzzcut head.  “There ain’t nothing wrong with that, Z.  No matter what people like your mother say.”

“I have to admit, it doesn’t feel like that.  My family was torn.  My town was torn.  I landed in SHIELD’s hands because”—she cringed—“of my powers.  None of that gives me hope of mutation ever being a good thing.”

“Times change,” Luke remarked casually.  “I mean, did you have hope you would ever get out of solitary?”

“Honestly?  Not at all.”

“And now you’re on house arrest because Fury’s been looking into the report.”

“Yet he still won’t let me meet with my brother.  Or be alone.”

“That’s a trust thing, not a hope thing.”

“‘A hope thing’?”  The semi-tan mutant scrunched her face, drawing the dense coat of freckles closer across her prominent cheekbones.  “You’re starting to sound like Danny and his insistent belief.”

“The guy does know what he’s talking about.”

“Yet I can’t understand it.  Neither is beneficial.”

“I know from experience that ain’t true.  There have been plenty of times in my life that I couldn’t have gotten through without a little of both.  They really do make you stronger.”

“And you really _are_ Danny’s best friend.”

“Been so for a while.  So I can say for sure, you should listen to him.  Sometimes, his suggestions are little…out there.  But that makes Danny, well, Danny.”

Sighing, Z locked eyes with Luke.  “I know he means well.  Still…”

“Well”—Luke’s felt his gaze soften at the mutant’s distant black eyes—“Let’s put it this way.  You’ve rejected hope until now.  What’s come about?”

“What’s happened to me and hope share no connection.”

“True.  Even so, hope eases the pain of trials.”

“Because it’s a ‘sweet illusion’, as Danny would say.  I’d rather have the truth.”

The hero frowned.  “Hope doesn’t warrant ignorance of truth.  In fact, it’s wiser to know the full extent of your troubles.  Hope is just a tool that can help you through them.”

“More like a hindrance.”  Zeelan’s counter left her lips in bitter bites.  For one moment, Luke swore a large force-field bubbled around the mutant, but after a blink it disappeared.  “My brother had hoped once,” she added lowly.  “He hoped that our mother would still accept him as a mutant.  And he almost died because of it.  I _won’t_ be caught off guard like him.”

There was no convincing the North Dakotan otherwise.  Luke could tell.  So, he managed a smile in response to her mild glare and leaned back into his couch, propping one foot on one knee.

“That’s a fair enough reason to be scared of hope,” he noted easily.

“I’m not scared!” Zeelan retorted with raised brows and accent.

“Right.  It’s supposedly pointless.  Either way, you want nothing to do with it.  And I can’t help feeling that’s going to change.”

“How do you figure?”

“Call it a hunch.  Life has a way of turning these things against you…”

“Luke!”

Spider-Man’s voice rung loud after the room’s sliding door hissed open.  The lithe leader stumbled over the threshold on rushed feet, panting as he fumbled for support along a foosball table.  He inhaled sharply, holding his side then drew his head up.  Luke could tell from experience that the action required a great amount of strength, so he wasted no time aiding his friend.

“No—I—I’m not the one who needs attention,” said Spider-Man through labored breaths.  They sounded pained and he flinched every time he drew in air.  “It’s Danny.”

“What about Danny?” Zeelan questioned before Luke got the chance.

The leader watched as she drew closer, saying, “He—he’s hurt.  There was The Trackers and Wednesday Adams and a weird weapon and—and—”

“Spidey”—Luke snapped as his stomach dropped—“what happened?”

Spider-Man paled as they connected eyes.  “Danny’s in the ER.”


	14. Control

* * *

 

What would it take to finally convince them?  Danny had tried everything from smiles to reassurances.  Still, they wouldn’t hear it.  The very moment he awoke, his incomplete team had barged into the Tricarrier’s medical ward like a stampede that pushed away everyone else.  That had been not an hour ago and they continued to hover with worry around his bed as if he could expire at any moment.

“Honestly, my friends,” Danny said.  His tone was tinged with slight exasperation from the intense stares of Zeelan and an unmasked White Tiger by his feet.  “I’m fine.”

“You were stabbed, Dude; that’s the _opposite_ of fine!” Spider-Man blurted while flailing an arm that held his limp mask.  His blue eyes widened then fell to the sterile floor and Danny sighed at the purple bags beneath them.  “It’s all my fault.  I’m sorry, Danny.”

“If you want my forgiveness, I will give it to you; however”—the blonde straightened his sore back against the overstuffed pillows behind him—“I see no need for an apology.”

“Dude, I left you hanging!”

“Only because you were tending to White Tiger with Six Arms.”

“Yeah, but—I—“  The leader sighed in defeat, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand.

Danny sent him a stern look.  “It’s understandable.  Fighting The Trackers as a whole team proved taxing.  Now, our number has been reduced.”

“I should have been there,” Power Man injected.  He sat—sunglasses removed—on the bed’s right side, his large arms crossed and his dark eyes narrowed.  “It should have been four, not three.”

“You know Fury’s rules,” added White Tiger darkly.

Zeelan grimaced when Danny caught her eyeing the bandage wrapped snug around his bare torso.  “Is watching me really worth cutting out a member of your team each day?” she questioned in a soft, grim accent.

“There’s no choice”—Fury’s sharp tone drew everyone’s attention to him—“One of _them_ is the only way to control you should you chose to ignore my request.”

“Request?” Z parroted as a surge in her Chi flickered purple around her clenched fists.  “More like a threat!  It doesn’t make sense why you wouldn’t want me to find my brother and talk him into releasing Nova for you!”

“You may think you know your brother through and through,” the Director added.  “But I know a side you don’t know.  Kevin may be, as you claim, a protector.  But he’s also highly susceptible to the temptation of revenge.  I give him you…and he’ll just kill Nova.”

“No.  No, he won’t.  You don’t know him!”

“He’s threatened to kill Agent Reyes before.”

Zeelan paused—Danny could feel the dropping of her stomach.  “Th—that’s a lie!” she cried, though without complete conviction.

Fury knew this and huffed lightly.  “You’ve sensed that part of him before.  This happened after the incident with your mother.  I wanted to help your family through your financial troubles, but he blamed me for what happened.  Though I had nothing to do with your mother’s…mental impairment.”

“You were offering charity?” questioned White Tiger incredulously along with everyone’s suspicious stares.

“I was offering a chance for him to support his family—with his father being sick and Zeelan too young to work.  That aside, Agent Reyes accompanied me often on my trips to Enderlin.  That’s why he chose her when he threatened me.”

“So her safety is why you stopped making trips to Enderlin,” drawled Spider-Man, a faint smirk on his lips.

“Of course,” Fury answered without missing a beat, “I take my agents’ safety very seriously.”

The leader’s smirk grew.  “Uh-huh.”

“Wait”—Z started speaking in a tentative tone that grew rigid—“when I—accidentally killed Miss Monica Reyes…did you think I did it as fulfillment of my brother’s threat?”

“The thought crossed my mind,” Fury admitted with an even gaze.

“You think he would share something like that with me?”

“Hence why I second-guessed it.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“Maybe.  I considered he might’ve felt differently after the Uprising.”

“Well, he _didn’t_.”

“Obviously.”

Danny sought Power Man’s gaze when Z and Fury locked into a silent staring contest.  The dark-skinned teen nodded then stood, rounding the bed until he stood between the Director and the mutant that vaguely glowed with a purple aura.

“Let’s control ourselves,” he noted with an open-palm towards each of them.  “Sir”—his mild glare landed on Fury—“with all due respect, every available member of this team should be in the field.  If you don’t want to try Z’s idea—“

“’Z’?”

“Hey, she’s friendly, alright?  But since you won’t listen, that leaves us to find the group.  And if you haven’t noticed, our man-power has been cut significantly.  Spider-Man was released from bed-rest just yesterday and already we have another member down.”

“Not down,” Danny interjected.  “Merely hindered; I can get up soon.”

Spider-Man flashed his blonde friend a look.  “Again, Dude, you were stabbed.  With a spear-ish thingie.”

“And _your_ rib was fractured.”

“That healed overnight.  Kinda.”

“And my artery was cauterized.”

“But that doesn’t mean it can’t be stressed open,” Fury stated.  He sidestepped Z and Power Man and walked until he loomed over Danny in bed.  “You’re lucky it was a nick instead of being severed.”

There was a chuckle, followed by, “A ‘nick’.”

The man need only glare in Spider-Man’s direction as silence filled the room.  “That’s not including the blood loss and muscle damage you’ve sustained.  You’ll be watching Miss Weir until you’re healed.  Or, the group finds Kevin’s hideout.”

“And our man-power continues its dive,” Spider-Man remarked sorely.

Fury turned to him.  “Not exactly.”  The arched a brow at the SHIELD leader, and the black-clad man raised his strong chin, saying, “You’ll find out.  Meanwhile, White Tiger, Spider-Man, Power Man—you come with me.  You can visit Iron Fist later.”

“What about Z?” Power Man asked, glancing at the white-haired mutant.  She sent him a weak smile.

“She’ll stay here with Iron Fist, so he can keep an eye on her,” Fury replied while walking towards the exit across the long room.

“You’re leaving her in the ward of someone wounded,” Spider-Man noted as he reluctantly tagged along.

“That’s fine”—Fury spoke loud enough for his voice to drift past the three heroes behind him—“Because if she tries anything funny, she returns to solitary.  This time, with no hope of a lighter sentence.”

Pop!  Pop!  Danny jumped and winced.  A searing pain ran through his gut to beneath his left lung—one that left the blonde breathless for several long seconds.  His strong fingers and toes curled around the sheets, gripping, strained.  However, he kept quiet while watching more Psionic bubbles pop behind Z, aware of the fact he declined extra morphine in favor of retaining his cognitive abilities.

 _‘No sudden moves_ ,’ he reminded himself before sucking in a short yet deep breath.

“Zeelan, remember what I said about focus.  Control your anger; release it.  For holding on to it is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.”

More pops erupted, though softer and less frequent than those before.  The nasally seethes of the mutant sounded like an uneasy slumber across the air, but Danny noted with relief that the white-haired teen straightened her form, turning to him with a cool glint in her oil black eyes.

“That saying sounds familiar,” she stated while meandering towards the blonde’s bed.  “Is it Buddha?”

“It is,” answered Danny, watching Z take a seat.

The semi-tan mutant folded her hand in her lap then sent the hero a small smile.  “Do you have a quote for everything?”

“Life itself is a quotation.”

“Spider-Man’s ‘Fortune Cookie’ nickname makes more sense every day.”

Danny returned her smile.  “I can only be that which I am.”

“’That which I am’ is angry,” Zeelan grumbled with a snort.  Her eyelids lowered slightly over her hooded eyes and a thin line spread across her moist, dark lips.  “Usually, I’m not easy to rile up, but Fury just—just”—she screamed silently into the fist she bit like an apple—“Ever since I was young, I couldn’t stand him.  Now it’s just worse.  How am I supposed to control myself when he’s accusing _my_ brother of such terrible things?  _Hunting_ him?”

“I admit, sometimes controlling anger is like containing a fire with your bare hands,” Danny replied.  “But with the right tools, it can be done.”

Z’s fist slammed against the nightstand beside the bed.  “I don’t care about tools.  Fury wants to arrest him, Danny—I know it.  K doesn’t deserve that!”

Black eyes—wide and glistening—kept the blonde still.  They wavered in their anger then fell to the white comforter as Danny frowned.

“I’m sorry, Z,” he started calmly.  “You’ve lost so much already.  I—I know how that feels.  But he did kidnap Nova.  Without good reason, he’ll be held accountable for that—as well as whatever has been done to Nova in his care.”

“Stop!” the mutant suddenly cried along with a fierce pop of another force-field.  Her hands covered her ears and her eyes screwed shut.  “I’m tired of hearing such things.  My brother’s _good_.  He stood up to bullies in school.  Made friends with the outcasts.  He helped me with chores and homework.  He did father’s work when he no longer could and looks out for others.  There’s _no way_ he would interrogate like a tyrant.  No way!  It’s not in him; it’s not!”

“Z!” Danny’s fingers shot out to grasp Zeelan’s wrists and pulled them down until her eyes reopened.  “I’ll take your word for it,” he added as she sniffled behind a faint stream of tears.  “The assurance in your Chi is why I don’t feel as anxious about my comrade as when the news had first been delivered.  So, there’s no need to justify him to me.”

With great difficulty, the mutant nodded, releasing a shaky breath.  “If Fury would just trust me to look for him alone, I’d find them all.”

“But you wouldn’t bring your brother back, would you?”

The mutant remained silent as she touched her reddened cheeks like she hadn’t registered the tears yet.

“It will be difficult, but it’s for the best if everyone meets in a single place,” the blonde added.  He felt a slight shake in the wrist one of his large hands still grasped and before he knew it, his fingers tightened in comfort.  “Once The Trackers are dealt with and SHIELD talks with your group, we all can rest easier.  Perhaps…you can even return home.”

Home—the word turned Zeelan’s face stony.  Instantly, she snatched back her wrist with a force that whitened Danny’s vision.  She held it close to the lavender shirt beneath her black jacket then said, “You’ll need a new game plan to defeat The Trackers.  You’ve faced them, what, twice already?”

“Three times, actually,” Danny answered, blinking the white from his vision.

“And look where you are now…”

“Set backs are merely hurdles in life.”

“What happened exactly?”

The white-haired teen scooted closer for a better look at Danny’s wrapped torso.  The stark-white gauze was wrapped high from his waist to above his diaphragm.  Its snugness made breathing that much harder with such little drugs in his systems, especially when he concentrated on it.  So, he forced his gaze on Z, whose face darkened red beneath the dense dusting of freckles across her face.  Huh.  Strange.

When Zeelan sat back in her seat with a slight shake of her head, the blonde said, “We started our patrol off with detective work.  Spider-Man found a few street vendors that had been robbed by a pair of small figures in hoodies.  The clothes description matched Trent and Minerva—from what I remember—so we continued to search for other possible hits like a trail.  Along the way, we ran across a robbery by Whirlwind.”

“Whirlwind?”

“He’s a mutant villain we’re quite familiar with.  He’s made it to SHIELD’s most wanted list, which gave us all the more reason to engage him in battle.”

“I see.”

“The fight didn’t take long, but just when we took him into custody, The Trackers showed, ready for a fight.”

“Oh”—Zeelan frowned—“They sought you out this time?”

Danny shrugged, solemn.  “I can’t say.  Until now, they’ve fought us like we were only a nuisance to their goal.  Perhaps that’s why they sought to kill us.”

“And they almost succeeded,” noted the mutant grimly.

“Their force felt over-powering with the absence of Nova and Power Man, but we have persevered through equally as challenging battles,” retorted with blonde.  He considered mentioning Dracula then thought better of it; the mutant couldn’t even bring herself to believe in general.  Besides, his heart sped up at the mere thought of the immortal’s wicked grin and invasive mind control.

“Who did you fight?”

Danny blinked at Z, hoping to clear his slightly blurred vision and floating head.  “I fought Six Arms before partners were switched.  I then fought Smokescreen.”

“Is she the one who…?”

“Yes.  She wielded weapons this time.  Which seemed strange.  Her powers are mid-to-long-range worthy.”

“Didn’t Spider-Man say it was a spear-like weapon that hurt you?”

“And he explained it to Fury as ‘claws’.”

“So…which is it?”

“Neither.”  The hero shook his head, smiling at the overdramatic memory.  “They were Lujiao Dao.”

“Chinese weapons?”

Danny’s thick brow rose at the slight cock of Zeelan’s head.  “You know of them?”

The teen brushed aside a wavy lock of white hair from the corner of her eye.  “Library nerd, remember?  I learned about them from Chinese history books when I was ten.  But I don’t remember what the name means.”

“They’re called Deer Horn Knives, though they have other names such as Crescent Moon Knives or Duck Blades.”

“They’re used in [Baguazhang](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baguazhang), right?”

“A soft-style Chinese Martial Art, yes.  You have an excellent memory.”

“Have to, when you run on facts.  So, if it’s not her specialty, then how did she get the better of you?”  Z blurted her words and immediately sighed at them, smacking a palm against her face.

“Don’t apologize,” Danny said.  He tried to smile, but felt the action difficult with his new headache.  The room felt hotter than earlier, humid, and as the temperature slowly climbed, the hero focused harder on Z as a distraction.  “She surprised me with her mastery over them, honestly.  The art requires a great amount of discipline, which I had never detected in her before.  Once I identified and accommodated to her new style, I regained an upper-hand.  Until the end.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t gut you.”  Pausing, Z smacked herself again.  “Oh, I don’t mean it like that,” she added miserably as her hand fell.  “I’m just thinking out loud. Mind tangent. Those weapons are easier to slice than to stab cleanly.”

“The wound wasn’t exactly clean,” noted the blonde through labored breaths.

“I—I guess my question is this: if she’s skilled with the Lujiao Dao, why didn’t she, well…No.  I—I’m sorry, Danny.  I’m glad she didn’t.“

The mutant’s head shook fiercely.  Or perhaps that’s what it seemed to Danny.  A coat of sweat had formed over his aching body and anything his dry eyes focused on seemed to rock like the ocean’s current in a hurricane.  Everything else swam in mass of colors in his peripheral vision, his stomach churning from the intensity.

Zeelan spoke.  Her Midwestern words were muffled, though—as if he were drowning beneath the surface of blinding white haze and scorching heat while a sense of weightlessness hit him.  Soon, sounds grew deaf.  White blocked all color.  And only one image lingered in his mind.

Smokescreen glanced upwards from her slight hunch, her too-green eyes lit with a strange relief.  “This should keep you busy,” she whispered as the blade dug deeper into his torso


	15. Poison

* * *

 

Danny was dying.  The words rung, deafening, in Ava’s mind—even after two days.  They left an enormous pressure on her shoulders and kept air from her lungs.  And no matter how hard she attempted to focus on SHIELD tasks and school, she found her mind slipping into ‘what if’ situations.

What if Danny can’t be saved?  What if he died?  What if her remaining teammates were targeted next?  What if she was?  What if Sam never returned?  What if she lost the new family she had found?

No.  She couldn’t bear that.  She had lost everything once before.  If it happened again…

‘ _Stop, it, Ava_ ,’ she scolded herself with a firm shake of her head.  ‘ _What would Danny say?  Probably something about despair in losing hope.  Or the disadvantage of negative Chi.  I must stay positive.  Positive.  Positive.  Positive…_ ’

The heroine paused in a wide hall of the Tricarrier, two turns before reaching her bedroom.  School always came early.  The late hour meant little to her now, though.  So she turned and headed for the ward Danny now had a special place in.

‘ _I just want to check on him_ ,’ she thought when she arrived minutes later.  She sought a clean breath then opened the door.

Inside, the lights were dimmed to the lowest setting, and it felt darker once the door cut off the brightness of the hall.  Only the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor echoed as she headed for the west corner, which was surrounded by a white curtain.  The fabric left enough gap between its hem and the floor for the Central-American to notice a chair already pulled up by the bedside.  Her brows furrowed slightly as she reached the area, but once the curtain was pushed back, they eased.

“Hey,” she said quietly to the white-haired figure in the chair.

“Hey,” Zeelan answered in a raspy accent.  She clung tighter to the knees she kept tucked under her chin and didn’t glance up.

“How is he?” Ava added as she sought another seat.

“Worse.”  The mutant’s whisper cut through Ava’s heart, weakening her legs worse than the waft of Danny’s body odor ever could.  She literally fell into her chair.

“How is that possible?” the heroine all but growled.

Zeelan sighed.  “Oh, his fever keeps returning.  He’s not responding to anti-biotics. And the one time he did wake up, he mumbled delusional gibberish before experiencing a seizure.”

“Wait”—Ava’s dark eyes narrowed—“He _woke up_?”

“His body did.  But…not his mind.”

“Fury didn’t tell us that.”

“I know.”

“Does that mean he’s identified this poison as well?”  The words were snide, and if Fury had been present, she would have glared down the Director.  It wasn’t the right thing to do as a subordinate.  Even so, Danny’s health meant more.  So at the thought of Fury’s face, her clawed hands curled around the plush arms of her chair.

“He hasn’t told me, if he does,” the mutant responded weakly.  “It’s still being processed through SHIELD data banks.  But I don’t think it’ll show.  Do you?”

“If there’s no hit yet, then no,” Ava answered with a tense jaw.

“He told me not to tell you,” added Zeelan after a small pause.

“About Danny?”

The mutant nodded then turned her gaze on the heroine’s stern face.  “I know because, despite Fury’s insistence, I won’t leave Danny’s side.  He told me you guys should be partially-involved to keep stress off of you over something you can’t control.”

“He’s my teammate”—the claws ripped into the coarse fabric of the chair arms—“I _deserve_ to know.”

“That’s why I said something, White Tiger.”  Smiling sadly, Z rested her chin against her knees.  “He threatened to put me back in solitary.”

“He’s still hanging that over your head.”

“If Fury has leverage, he’ll use it.”

“Yet you don’t seem fazed by it at all.”

The mutant shrugged.  “It’s only logical.  He’s bluffing…I think.”

“Oh?”  Ava arched a brow.  “How can you tell?”

“His aura; it had indigo in it.”

“And that means?

“My Radiesthesia isn’t perfect, I know.  Mainly because I’m ignorant in how to use it.  And, frankly, it relies on too much gut feeling for comfort.  However”—Zeelan’s dark eyes drifted to the sleeping blonde then her knee-high boots—“I know one color for sure.  Indigo means a lie.  The clearer the color, the deeper the emotion is set in someone—from what I can tell.  Fury’s indigo was clear.”

“Why would he lie about that, though?” questioned Ava while crossing her arms.  The Director’s name didn’t rouse as much anger in her as it had before, but when her eyes fell on Danny’s face—which contorted in sweat-inducing pain—a new kind of anger filled her.

“I—I think it’s because…he believes I can save Danny,” the mutant answered as Ava inwardly fought back a violent surge from her amulet.

“How can _you_ save Danny?” the heroine managed, regaining control.

Zeelan sighed.  “Because after he woke today, the doctor’s realized this poison targets the psyche.  It’s not fighting his internal organs or blood.  His fever and, consequently, delirium all stem from his sick mind.”

“Danny has the strongest psyche of us all,” noted Ava with a frown.  “When a demon called Nightmare enslaved the minds of everyone in the city, _he_ was the one to wake himself and Spider-Man from the spell.”

“A…demon?”  The mutant blinked, light brows knit together.

“I don’t remember any of it, but trust them—well, Danny—to tell the truth.  They defeated the demon in the Dream Dimension with help from Doctor Strange.”

“Doctor Strange?  Dream Dimension?”

“Look”—the heroine’s hand rose as Zeelan’s voice cracked—“he can tell you about that later.  My point is his mind can fight _this_ too.”

“Fury isn’t sure.”

“Say he doesn’t.  How can you help?  If it’s a poison of his psyche, only his mind can fight it.”

Biting her lip, Zeelan glanced down, fidgeting in her chair.  All were tell-tale signs someone was hiding something they didn’t wish to speak about.  Even if Ava hadn’t been trained by SHIELD or enhanced with her White Tiger Amulet, she could tell the mutant had something on her mind.  Only, instead of keeping it inside, the white-haired teen spoke up.

“There’s another part of my powers that…you may not know about.”

“What’s that?” asked Ava instinctually.  She caught Zeelan’s gaze and gave an encouraging nod in genuine curiosity.

“My Radiesthesia is a passive ability,” the mutant started, low.  “And generally useless at this point.  My force-fields won’t cooperate.  Yet I still have another that’s worse than that.  Astral Projection.”

“Really?”

“Fury says it falls into a sub-category of my mutant class.”

“Which is?”

“Psychic.  Though I don’t like the term; it’s too…mystical.”

“I see…”  Then, the thought stuck Ava like an enlightening bolt of electricity.  “He wants you to project into Danny’s mind.”

“He thinks I can help bring him back,” Zeelan replied—Midwestern tone tinged with a great amount of misery and apprehension.

“It would make sense.”

Suddenly, Zeelan whirled towards Ava, standing from her chair with her fists clenched tight beside her hips.  “It _does_?” she questioned in a loud whisper.  “How can that possibly make sense?  Let’s send in the inexperienced mutant—who’s only projected by accident since discovering her abilities two months ago—into the iron-clad mind of a Chi Master.  Sure, Danny doesn’t have enough problems.  We should send someone _else_ in to scramble his brains _more_!”  The mutant’s voice cracked near the end and she drew heavy breaths that deflated the half-formed force-fields floating around the trio.

Ava frowned as one glowing orb by her face faded into darkness.  “I meant the idea made sense,” she whispered, blunt.  “Though it would probably work best if someone like Charles Xavier was at the head.”

“See?  Now that would make more sense.”

“You know who Xavier is?”

Zeelan sent a curt nod.  “We heard about him in our travels.  From other mutants.  He, uh, he’s the reason we’re in New York in the first place.”

“You were running to his school.”

The mutant nodded again, silent.

“But you didn’t want to lead The Trackers there, so you lingered in this city because…?”

“We hoped we could lose them in the dense population,” grumbled Zeelan.

“Two months with them on your tail,” Ava added distantly.  “Honestly, I’m surprised your powers aren’t further developed.”

“I try not to use them, alright?” the mutant snapped.  There was a tremble to her tone, a hitch in her breath.  “You know what happened with Miss Reyes.  All because I chose to use them.  I—I can’t...”

“But your powers will always part of you,” replied Ava while standing to met Z’s dark eyes.

“They’re a poison to my rational thinking.”

“And still a part of you.”

“I didn’t ask for them.”

“Very few of us ask for the power we’re given; we still have to be responsible enough to accept the burden.”

“Even if it hurts others?”

“ _Especially_ then!”

In wake of Ava’s exclamation, the whole room fell silent.  Hot anger from the White Tiger Amulet twitched in the heroine’s muscles, begging for an outlet.  She tempered its frustration with years of practice then straightened her toned form, reminded of how vital sleep was to her control.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” she said lowly, carefully.  The mutant begrudgingly met her even gaze.  “My White Tiger Amulet was handed down by my father.  I didn’t…I didn’t want it because it would mean my father’s reign as White Tiger had truly ended with his death.  But I took it anyway and immediately realized how difficult bearing his mantel was.  I’m at risk every day with it because if I allow myself one slip then I could wind up harming the people I love.  Do you know how I keep peace with it?”

Zeelan’s head shook.

“I accept it,” Ava added while the white-haired teen sighed.

“Oh, if you bring up belief—“

“Discipline, focus, and admittance are how I maintain a hold over the amulet.  I recognize the power in me—respect it—yet don’t let it define me.  You need to find your own peace with your abilities, Zeelan.  If you do that…then maybe you can help Danny after all.”

“Yeah, but”—Zeelan timidly glanced at Danny when he moaned—“what if I just hurt him instead?”

“What if you don’t?

“What if I do?”

“What if it works?”

“But—“

“How can you know if you aren’t willing to try?”  The mutant’s boot slipped against the hard floor with a loud click and Ava shook her head.

“Th—the risk is too great,” muttered Z.  “Fury would be better off asking Xavier, like you mentioned.”

“Yeah, I mentioned it.  Doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”

“Why?”

Ava’s lips pursed.  “Let’s just say the Director and Xavier stand on shaky ground.”

“Are you saying he wouldn’t push his troubles aside for Danny?”

“Did he mention you by name in his musings?”

“…Yes.”

“Then no.”

“Oh, how logical is _that_?”  Violently, the semi-tan mutant slammed a palm against her face, running it down slowly to reveal a grimace.

“This could be a good sign, though,” added Ava with refrained optimism.

“How so?”

“This means Fury is starting to believe in you.”

“ _Great_.”

“No, it is.  Trust me; being on Fury’s good side is far better than being on his bad.”

“I don’t wish to be on any of his sides.”

“What about Danny’s side?”

Zeelan froze.

“Thought so.  He’s done nothing but try to help you in any way he can.  Why won’t you return his kindness?”

“You already know.  Because I can’t—“

“’Can’t’ and ‘won’t’ are two separate things!”  In one swift move, Ava’s finger pointed at Zeelan’s wide-eyed face and she took a step forward.  “If I told myself stuff like that, I would’ve transformed into a beast long ago.  You have to believe in yourself, believe you can do it.”

“Belief again…”

“A hero needs belief.”

“I’m no hero.”  With a sigh, the mutant’s vision fell.

Ava regained it by huffing.  “Not a hero?  What is the definition of a hero?  Someone who saves, serves and protects.  You’ve gone two months protecting your group, and I’ve witnessed firsthand how your powers saved two lives.  How is that not heroic?”

“The save was…instinctual.”

“All the more proof of how heroic you can be.”

“When I can’t even form a force-field on purpose?”

The heroine frowned at Zeelan’s mild glare.  “You formed one—a strong one—in battle.”

“Again, that was instinctual.”

“Then…maybe your powers require that.”

“Require what?”

“Instinct.”  Obviously, the mutant felt unconvinced, so Ava added, “Think about it.  Every time you try, the force-fields either explode or don’t form at all, right?”  She waited for Zeelan to confirm.  “And when you didn’t think at all, let your impulse take over, you created one just fine.”

“That—” The semi-tan mutant grew rigid under Ava’s intense stare.  “If I did that, I’d be going against my very nature.”

“We all have sacrifices we must make,” Ava noted solemnly.  “Mine is my freedom.  This is yours.  The only question is…can you withstand it, your ‘poison’, for Danny’s sake?”

War.  Ava knew the look of inner debate well, and she waited patiently for Zeelan’s mind to settle.  The seconds passed, accompanied only by the heart monitor’s call.  Beep.  Beep.  Beep.  Zeelan turned and rested a gentle hand on Danny’s leg that was hidden beneath layers of blankets.  She frowned—the freckles on her diamond-shaped face nearly hidden by the shadow cast from a long LED light on the steel wall.

“He said he would convert me into a believer,” she whispered with a brief, bitter tinge.  “Maybe I could do it.  If I had years of practice.”

Ava had to fight off an eager smile.  “Start small.  With a change of view, read his aura.  Tell me what you _feel_ from it.”

Zeelan stepped closer to the bed.  Both the mutant’s hands hovered over his body as if she were sensing the feverish heat radiating beyond the sheets.  As her hands neared his chest, spreading to each side of his pasty face, she halted, squinting.

“It’s…heavy,” she panted.  And Ava frowned.  Why did Zeelan begin to sweat as well?  “Everyone has a unique aura,” Zeelan continued when Ava didn’t reply.  “Like a signature.  Spider-Man was wrong to—to call it ‘mood ring detection’.”  She wheezed.  “People are more complicated…than a single color.  Danny’s is supposed to be…greens and browns.  Sometimes with blue.  Solid colors.  Yet now—“

“Z—Zeelan?” Ava questioned as the white-haired teen swayed.  Instinct glided the heroine across the floor to Zeelan’s side.  Her clawed hands reached for Zeelan’s wrists, but when she tried to pull them back, she found that she couldn’t.  “What the hell?”

“There’s so much black,” the mutant muttered, unfocused.  Her dark eyes were wide with a fear that dripped sweat faster down her paled skin.  “It’s choking the color.  It’s—It’s—“

“Zeelan!”

Ava tugged Zeelan’s wrists again.  The result was the same, and a wave of hairs rose over the heroine’s body during her third attempt.  As the hands were brought together, a great trembling then coursed through the tight contact before it grew utterly still.  The hairs prickled like small warnings when Ava’s head whirled towards Zeelan’s face.  Not a moment later, the mutant’s frame began to shake violently and her eyes rolled into the back of her head while her legs gave way.


End file.
